Breakfast with my father

My dad wakes me up at 8 am. He has no idea I've been awake since well all night because jet lag or whatever this roga is. He thinks I have to be ready in an hour to go out with my cousins. I tell him plans have changed and to please drop me off at the mall on the way to his gym. He's says okay and leaves only to come back a few minutes later with an idea. He has several ideas from time to time and will share them all. 

"Will you get up in one hour and go brush your teeth and all and come? I will make some breakfast." 

He then proceeds to go do his yoga while he plays this one Buddhist chant on repeat from a cd he bought in Nepal in the year 2002.

After a shower and trying to force my contact lenses in my Ambarish red eyes I go sit down to a spread of egg sandwiches and fruit. Unfortunately there is a layer of mystery meat in the sandwich. Upon enquiry I am informed it is beef. I tell him i haven't eaten been in 16 years. 

"It's okay what is there, you can eat."

I scrape off the meat bits and eat the egg. 

"Take some fruit."

The "fruit" includes one kiwi cut up, one banana, a giant plastic container filled with pomegranate and 6 raw almonds just chilling. I ask about the pomegranate. 

"Where did you get it? Who cleaned it?"

"See, I buy one kg and bring, then I will clean and keep in the fridge so it becomes easy for me to eat anytime." He scoops a spoonful and munches on it like puri. I'm obviously thinking about biswa kalyan rath's pomegranate sketch and dying. 

I ask if he's ready for his tea. Does he want normal tea or his healthy green tea. I already know the answer. 

"I've already kept my tea bag ready, you can pour some hot water in it and then add milk to yours. Oh and don't put sugar in your tea. Try this." 

He hands me some sort of brown sugar that's stuck together in what looks like sesame but maybe not. He says it's from a plant and it's good for you. I hesitate to add it to my tea because if it ruins it I'll have to start from scratch. Also at this point I'm dying for tea. There's coffee but it's not nearly strong enough. 

Did I mention my dad has been playing YouTube videos of Tamil songs from the sixties on his phone this whole time. The audio plays on his Bluetooth speaker which he was very excited to discover was a thing about a year ago. He watches the video on his phone while he eats his breakfast. 

"Don't forget about the mango you kept in the fridge yesterday. Eat it fast."

I bring him his tea which he proceeds to drink while reading his newspaper. "My god 15 trees have crashed yesterday."

"Err, with this much rain aa?"

"Ya, daily trees will be crashing. Some are very old trees. Oh Mohan has come."

He introduces me to the new gardener. They talk about the very important transplant that is to take place today. 

"See we are transplanting this butter fruit tree from this corner to that corner."

"Okay"

"This Mohan is quite good. Better than the last Telugu bugger. Most useless fellow." 

I notice Mohan speaks Kannada. Good luck Mohan, I'm rooting for you.

"Okay you go get ready. I will go finish shaving and all."

Finis.

One day after work.

I was just getting ready to leave the office when I get an important email about Halloween. It has taken everyone about three weeks to come to a consensus and finally one day before the big event it has been decided that we will wear Halloween t-shirts to work. My first thought is goddamn it, now I can't go straight home. I absolutely hate having to make any stops between work and home. It just delays me from getting to my couch and my sicrit Internet and my tea.

Now i have no idea where one goes to get a halloween t-shirt. 'Duh Walmart!' I am told. I happen to hate going to Walmart. Every time I go there with someone I lose them. It is inevitable. They're looking for I don't know lamps and I'm looking at band aids and there's aisles of rubbish between us and I can't locate them when it's time to go home. Anyway I decide I will try Walgreens instead but no luck. I try CVS and they have about 8 aisles of Halloween candy but no t-shirts. I stock up on my almonds and leave.

Now I have a tough decision to make - do I risk going to Target which is inside the same mall where oh about 80% of my paycheck goes or do I go to Walmart? I decide I'll go to Walmart.

I walk in and first of all no greeters. I'm disappointed because hello that's part of the whole Walmart charm. If there's no 90 year old guiding me towards the right section I am for sure getting lost. Anyway I think i see a giant witch so I make my way towards her and sure enough it's the Halloween section, complete with little children running around and one lady on the phone insisting her ex must have the fortune hidden somewhere. "I know he got it somewhere and I'm gonna find it." I see some fugly purple t-shirts that say witch and famous. I also see some hideous bright orange shirts with pumpkin faces. The little kids' shirts aren't horrible but I'm adult sized so I keep looking until finally i see a grey t-shirt with a super cute owl on it. I grab it and run to the fitting room hoping it fits. There's a woman manning the fitting room (womanning?) and she wants to count my one t-shirt. "How many?" she yells. "Errr one." She hands me a number 1 sign to hang on my door and I proceed to try on the owl shirt. Now technically this shirt should never have fit me but I convinced myself it would and so it did. Don't ask how I managed that. Excited with my new t-shirt I imagine all the times I will wear this again. Never.

I decide since I am in Walmart I might as well see if they have any of that amazing pumpkin bread. My friend made some for me last year and it was amazing. After looking through rows of instant cakes and brownie mixes I decide to seek help. This friendly looking cross eyed guy is wandering about with a mop and a big smile. I describe the pumpkin bread and how it comes in a giant box with real pumpkin pulp and he's like "Have you tried our baked goods section?" I explain to him that I will be the one baking it. "I'm just looking for the mix" i say. Then he's like "Have you tried home living?" Now I'm no home living expert but I would think that's the section for carpets and sheets and garden gnomes. I thank him for his help and go to pay for my owl shirt. On the way I pass a row of ginger bread mix and sure enough right beside it is the Pillsbury pumpkin bread! Excited I head to checkout only to be met by 4 open counters, each with long lines of people. I get out my phone, scan through my twitter timeline, read some whatsapp messages and some fifteen minutes later it's my turn. My grand total is $8.92. I'm all say what?? and then I go skipping to my car which proceeds to honk at me but that's another story.

Saturday night.

My friend sends me a Facebook invite to a desi baby contest and a fashion show.

"Please let's go to this. It will be terrible."

"You know I hate babies. Wait, there's going to be food right?"

"There will be food but I also hear there's a great Bengali place next door."

"Fine. What time?"

So we get to the damn thing but not before getting lost. We have GPS yet somehow miss a turn and travel atleast 4 miles in the wrong direction. I expect to see lots of bengali people but strangely everyone looks Gulti. I finally realise it's a Gulti function at a bengali temple and no wonder because the awkward guy on stage is definitely speaking telugu.

We find seats and settle in to watch some babies fight it out on stage but instead awkward man is motioning for couples to come forward. 'Aao samosa kaaye' is about to happen. 'Aao samosa kaaye' is exactly what you think it is except for the pronunciation of khaaye. Couples get on stage and try to feed each other samosas in a timely fashion or something. We roll our eyes and look around for familiar faces. My friend suggests checking out the food. We ask a guy what he's selling. "Palav, gobi, biryani-noodles."

We run away before he shows us a plate of biryani noodles.

Just as we're fleeing some type of singing competition begins. This poor little kid comes on stage to sing a medley of (mostly shreya goshal) Hindi songs, complete with her lyrics sheet and giant glasses. You want to feel sorry for her especially because she's way off key. As it gets worse we decide to go for a walk to the temple next door. The temple is beautiful and smells great and oh look a family taking a group photo with Ma Durga. Everytime the door opens we hear the terrible singing.

My friend decides to go ask awkward Gulti man who looks in charge when the fashion shown will start, or worse, if we've already missed it. He comes back giggling. "It will start at 8 and last 3 minutes, it seems."

"So we'll be late for the movie?"

"Fuck it. Let's just go."

We decide to go see his friends backstage first. Well he does. I was not walking into anyone's dressing room. We then get the hell out of there.

"Alright now can we eat some Bengali food?"

"Yes please. You know where this place is?"

"Err no."

We ask random people in the parking lot. No one knows. We try google. Nothing.

"Fine. Let's just go to Annam. It's really close."

"Oh great. Now I have to eat vegetarian oota?"

We get lost on the way but eventually find it and turns out they have an exciting menu featuring gobi manchuri, chapathi and appam. Also chicken!

I study the menu pointing to fifteen different things I want to try. Two different waiters keep walking up to us. We're confused and place orders with both of them. The food is great, well mostly the gobi.

Now stuffed, we have to drive across the city to watch a Bengali movie called gandu. Our problem is the movie is showing in the media center of rice university. We have no idea where the media center is and apparently no one else does. We drive around asking students. One girl gives us pretty detailed directions which I would have followed except my friend sees something and makes me reverse (on a one way street) which I do and take the unnecessary left turn after which we are really lost.

"Let's just park here and walk."

"Oho."

So we walk across campus. It is way past 8 o'clock.

"They're doing an introduction to the movie first so we won't miss much."

Thankfully I'm wearing my comfortable mojaris. Funfact: there's no left or right shoe in this pair. Either one can be worn on either foot. Earlier that evening I had demonstrated to my friend this exciting feature outside the temple. Also luckily it was 65 degrees that evening or I would've had to sit down on the pavement and call me a taxi.

We continue walking for miles singing mohabbat hain mirchi and other random songs until we find the damn media center. On the way we spot many stranded vehicles with blinkers on and no one inside. We wonder if this is a rice university makeout ritual.

When we finally locate the media center we notice tons of visitor parking all around. I am too tired to shove my friend to the floor so I keep walking. Once inside we realise there is just one entrance to the screening room and it is right past the screen. We're already more than thirty minutes late so we decide to walk in shamelesssly and find seats. I try to place my water in the cup holder but there isn't one being that this isn't an actual movie theater.

The movie itself is bizarre like you cannot imagine. It's in black and white and Bengali. It features a rapper named gandu and a sidekick named rickshaw who looks sort of like cut-piece nehra and who worships Bruce lee and practices slow motion kung fu. Lots of sex happens between a neighbour aunty with ridiculous cleavage and her mustachioed boyfriend who insists on keeping his sunglasses on the whole time. Gandu watches them. Gandu gets caught. Gandu thinks about killing himself. And then the credits roll and we're like oh thank god but turns out there's still twenty more minutes of serious porn. There's a rare penis sighting except this movie is too cool for just one flash of penis so we're shown close ups, every angle imaginable and lots of effort by gandu's lover who seems to enjoy meowing. Ten painful minutes later the lights come on and I'm surprised to see the room is filled with desis, none of whom will make eye contact with me.

We leave, sort of in shock, dreading the walk back to the car. No one remembers where we parked. I do remember the direction we came from. I point towards it but my genius friend suggests walking the other way. "It's like a circle. This way we'll get there faster."

Somehow we manage to leave the campus. We walk along the pavement. I fear for my life, happy to see the occasional jogger. Twenty minutes later we're back inside the campus but nowhere near the car. Another ten minutes and voila it's my car. I hug it and sit down to cry. Alright I'm being a little dramatic. I giggle hysterically.

We drive back home talking about how tired we are. My friend has to go pick up his car from my house, drive it to his house, change into clothes appropriate for a gay bar and then drive himself to the bar to hang out with his friends and the straight guy he's been crushing on, who's leaving the country the next day. So that's the plan.

"I will get us home in 15 minutes. There's no traffic at this hour."

Two seconds later we hit crazy traffic. 610 is a parking lot. "Take this exit. I know another easy way."

Magically we're now practically right by the gay bar my friend is supposed to go to. "Maybe we should just stop by and say hi."

"No. Maybe I should drop you off so you can be with your doww and I can leave. I will play mujhse juda hokar as I drive off."

I start to sing it. Then I realise I have it on my iPod. I play it for my friend who is begging me to stop.

We find shady parking by which I mean a guy moved his car, took 5 bucks from us and let us park in his spot in a small store parking lot.

I refuse to get out of the car. "I am not going to a gay bar wearing a salwar kameez. Are you crazy?"

"You look fine. People will think it's a sparkly tunic. And you're wearing jeans."

"No."

"Please. Just ten minutes. I promise."

"Right."

I have never been to a gay bar. This place is gay central in Houston. Every corner you turn a new cloud of perfume hits you.

"Everyone smells so good." I realise I'm sniffing strangers. Lots of well maintained eyebrows are being raised. It's what you get when you're wearing a salwar kameez and seem to enjoy sniffing people.

We meet my friend's friends. I meet tall bisexual guy who owns a boutique for drag queens (true story) and a super friendly bollywood dance teacher and some other incredibly shy guy. Then I spot straight guy who's all the way over there talking on the phone. We bid farewell to the happy desi threesome and walk towards straight guy who, turns out, has an adorable accent. We talk about a range of subjects - how 99% in statistics means nothing, whether or not it is sanitary for the people to be doing HIV testing at night time in the middle of the road, the straight guy's trip so far. The whole time my friend is staring adorably at straight guy who is staring adorably back at my friend. I'm confused. I decide it is best to leave them alone for their last evening (where nothing will happen) together. We come up with a plan. I assure everyone there is no way I'm going inside with them and leave.

My friend walks me to my car which is somehow still where I left it. I hand him a face towelette, deodorant and gum and advise him to get rid of the old man sweater. I then get home without getting lost and have the best 12 hour sleep ever.

Mommy, let's delay these people for no reason.

Little kid at cvs earlier today - "Mommy, can mika have some jellybeans?"
"Mommy has to pay for it first hon."
Kid gets on his tippy toes to lay jelly beans on the counter and crosses his hands.
Collective awww at the checkout line.
Lady at the counter stops scanning stuff and starts asking Mika lame questions.
Mika: "I'm 3 and those are my jelly beans."
"Are you going to share them with anyone mika?"
"Um ..." long pause "okay."
Collective awwwww.
Meanwhile I'm trying my best not to yell let's go bitch.
Finally mika and mommy get moving.
"Bye mika. Be good now. Help mommy with the bags okay."
Lady only has one bag.
Meanwhile Mika has just dropped all the jelly beans on the floor.

Alright I just made up my dream ending to that story.

I attempt to watch Tree of life.

I decided I would watch tree of life because I'm cool like that. I usually have a lot of patience with people in movies. I will sit through 2 hours of a guy talking to his table fan. But this movie was a test. And I failed.

Twenty minutes into it I'm a little confused about the depressing family but still intrigued. Then something weird happens. A screensaver comes on. That's right. One minute we're watching people and the next minute we're watching pretty pictures from outerspace. After this a volcano begins to erupt. For like 8 minutes we're just watching bright orange stuff spewing onto the screen. With opera music in the background. Really intense opera. Then they cut to a montage of life under the ocean featuring giant chunks of seaweed. At this point I'm thinking maybe somebody hit the wrong button in the control room. The Discovery channel is on for some reason. I continue to watch because I figure eventually someone will realise their mistake. The depressing family will reappear. More time goes by. The audience of 4 people is getting restless. It has now become a contest to see who among us will walk out first. Then they show a fucking baby dinosaur and that was my cue to walk out.


P.S. If you've watched the entire movie please let me know wtf happened. Many thanks.

Park Sheraton Zindabad.

Luckily for me the missing suitcase was the one consisting entirely of gifts my mother had sent to everyone she knew in Bangalore city. My stuff was safe so I was able to shower (chennai water ugh but whatever) and change. Then I looked at my address book to call everyone I knew in chennai, which is like 3 people. Merapathi lakshmipathy (who did not answer), Ananda yenanda (who had just left the city the same morning, in fact we were at the airport at the same time and didn't know it) and the world famous Anantha. World famous Anantha answered and entertained me for a bit. Unfortunately he couldn't get out of the office until 6 pm by which time I would've already left for the airport so we decided to meet in a couple of weeks in Bangalore, where it's prettier. I called my worried father and nibbled on my really tiny piece of Christmas cake which was delivered to the room on a giant silver platter courtesy some leddis in wonderfully draped saris - "Merry Christmas ma'am, the lunch buffet has started." I heard lunch buffet and promptly went to look for my shoes.



I had wisely worn comfortable pants since this was going to be my first meal in India after 5 years. To say I was looking forward to it would be an understatement. I walked around the buffet table like I was at some art show, checking out the beautiful creations, reading the descriptions. I didn't want to miss anything so I took a sample of everything, except for the rice and sat down to wait for my naan. I know not to mix my roti and rice, my dad has taught me well. I am not making this up but my eyes actually welled up as I took my first few bites. You forget how amazing the quality of food in India is, you really do. In spite of refilling my plate 3 times I was disappointed in my appetite and then the chef or chief waiter or someone important looking came up and asked me if everything was okay. He may have seen me wiping away tears. I would've hugged him but there were other people in the room, plus i wasn't sure I'd be able to get off of my chair in a hurry. I sure was glad for the elevator. After I got back to my room I took the loveliest little nap before my phone alarm went off and it was time to head back to the airport. I was finally going home.

I'm on a roll here.

Still to come -

Meeting almost blind man who likes to set up couples for marriage purposes.

ALL of the family.

Lots and lots of church.

Train parotta - the death inducing kind.

Touring malleshwaram with bikerdude.

Eating epic andhra meal.

Meeting c in crowded mall in filmi style.

Avoiding the marriage topic.

Shopping like there are no malls in America.

Dinner at cousin's house with very strange man and nieces with dance performance.

Airlines with kb.

Bangalore club massage.

Upendra pichaar.

Saar why you have brought me to wrong city?

We were about 20 minutes away from Bangalore. I had eaten my 'Muslim meal' which I did not recall ordering but ate gladly since it was basically chicken curry, rice and rasmalai. This British man on my first flight offered to buy it from me if I didn't want it. I took one look at the meal he was about to eat and gasped in horror. Anyway that was 20 hours ago and now I was almost home. I wasn't sure what to feel.

I was about to get emotional when the pilot made an announcement. There was fog in Bangalore. Nobody took him very seriously. "Still it is early no, it'll clear soon" the knowledgeable uncles said. Ten minutes later we were told the fog was still pretty bad. Bad enough for them to take us to madras. Madras!

A couple of hours later we were still at the airport. We were asked to collect our baggage. I was able to locate only one bag and two kind men were helping me locate the other. Finally they said "inge ille ma, neenge anga poi complain pannange."

After filling out the required paper work I went outside expecting a bus to take us to our hotel. They had promised us we'd get to Bangalore later that evening on the same flight. Instead I found myself waiting with a group of people led by a man in a safari suit and a sign. He was sending us in taxis to the hotel. I was made to get in a taxi with a middle aged man and his bags. I sat in the back with some 6 suitcases that looked like they were about to collapse any minute. To make matters worse our driver was mad. I mean sure I hadn't driven in India in 5 years but Houston had plenty of rash drivers. This guy was on a whole other level though. He drove the entire way on the wrong side of the road. As soon as he saw a vehicle approach he would merge to the left. I was genuinely terrified. I distracted myself by looking out the windows at signs like 'Fitter, Tuner - 10th pass' and giant politicians in cooling glasses. The driver at this point had started complaining about safari suit man who had forgotten to give him a receipt. He said he would need it at the hotel so he could get paid. Co passenger started to reassure him in Hindi. Driver looked at him like he was crazy.

"Hindi nahin aata?"

"Tora Tora aata hain saar. Aana yeneke receipt kudukalanga."

I had to translate for the two. It wasn't pretty.


It took an hour to get to the hotel but once we got there I was very impressed. They checked under the car for bombs. They checked my bags, they gave me a serious pat down. It was way more serious than any airport pat down I had received.

The room was nice. I was very excited at the thought of taking a bath after 24 hours. I had also spotted my first hot tamizh boy in the lobby. I was generally in a much better mood.

Do not forget the giant toblerone.

My flight did not get cancelled. It was on time. I did not get stuck in heathrow, in fact I barely had time to get from one gate to the next. When I got to my gate boarding had started but there was a line, long enough i decided for me to run across to the duty free shop and pick up all the giant toblerone that would fit in my arms. When I got back the line was still there so i decided now would be a good time to pack the chocolate in my pull along.

It wouldn't close.

I sat on the floor repacking the damn thing while the line in the front of me moved away. Then this man walks up and I'm thinking yay someone's here to help me zip my bag up. He goes "err, are you in the line?" I sigh and tell him he can get ahead of me. Ten minutes later I have my suitcase zipped and I stand up to do a cheer. Silly man then applauds my effort and turns back around.

I really don't want to spend christmas in heathrow.

So my tickets were booked, my passport had finally been renewed and I was excited to go home after 5 years. The problem was I was flying British Airways and heathrow freaks out if it gets more than a couple of inches of snow. The weekend before I was scheduled to fly out heathrow declared itself closed. CNN showed video of people stuck at the airport, sleeping on the floors, running out of food. They interviewed someone who had waited in line for an hour only to find out they were all out of muffins. I pictured myself being there, spending christmas with angry strangers, all of us upset at the lack of muffins.

To be continued.

Test

I'd like to blame two things for my lack of blogging. One is twitter. It's easy, it's instant and then since I've talked about something the minute it's happened I don't feel the need to go back and talk about it more in detail.

Then there's my iPhone which I love and my laptop which died, which I haven't really missed. Tweeting from my phone is awesome and I hadn't really thought about blogging from my phone but I figured why the hell not? I have stories to tell, mostly from my India trip and since there's so many I'm going to just do short ones. Many short posts is the goal. Wish my luck.

P.S. We're World Champions. WHAT??!

when i could have been napping.

i was enjoying a perfectly relaxing afternoon on my couch when mother decided we both needed pedicures. this meant i had to be her chauffeur which i hate because she likes to pretend she's my personal GPS and she blocks my view of traffic. also there's the trampling of my cds and the complaining that the car is too dirty. mother's car is always impeccable.

once we got to the place she took forever to pick out a colour. i was already seated at this point and trying to find a place for all my possessions namely my book, keys, water and sunglasses. i had decided my bag was too heavy to carry. i'm stupid like that. mother finally made her way to her seat with the only colour she ever picks - maroonish red or as i like to call it aunty colour.

i told her that instead of wasting ten minutes she should have just let me pick the colour since i already knew what it was going to be because it's always the exact same shade of maroon.

her response was to gasp at my pink. "it's too pink. also dark colours last longer." what?

i settled into my chair and started reading my book which was no easy task because mother didn't think to bring a book. magazines aren't really her thing which meant she was about to start talking any second now. and since it didn't look like anyone else in the room spoke english i prepared to have her talk to me for the next 40 minutes odd minutes, which was why, i was a little shocked when she began talking in vietnamese. mother lived in vietnam for a few years as a teenager and she's very proud of the fact that she can still speak a couple of broken sentences. the girls stared at her for a second before they realized she was attempting to converse with them in their language. once they kind of understood what she was saying they got really excited. and loud. they even got their friend who up until that point was perfectly happy falling asleep against the wall, to join them. they seemed curious to learn where this lady had picked up such refined vietnamese.

"your dotah speak too?"

"no my daughter useless."

wtf?

at that point mother noticed that my chair was not vibrating.

"is your massage not working?"

"i don't know ma."

"put it on!" she reached over to grab the remote.

i hate massage chairs. you have a choice between rolling, kneading and pulse. the latter just hurts my back so i went with the rolling even though it felt like two hands pushing me out of the chair. i was scared i would fall right out and into the water. plus i think it's wise that my foot remain steady when there's a lady attacking my cuticles with sharp objects. mother doesn't believe in not using something that's free. if it comes with the pedicure why wouldn't you use it? she declared that she wanted a massage chair for her birthday. i wondered if it was too late to move to another chair before she started asking for prices. mother loves to buy things that are not for sale. and she'll bargain with you too. just then the door opened and a giant man walked in. he wanted a manicure. nothing wrong with that except mother was staring, mouth covered. i felt bad for the girl who had to help him because he had incredibly hairy hands.

now that their spare friend was occupied the girls got back to work and mother was bored again. she yawned in the hopes that she'd be offered some tea. that sort of thing only works in india. mother having realized that turned to me.

"remember when you were small and you used to come with me to nefertiti?"

everyone turned to look at mother. this was her cue to start the story. "she was really young you know, like 7 or 8 and she would come with me to get her nails done. and while i would get a facial she would sit with the girls and ask them to french braid her hair. she used to have really nice hair. long and straight." she shook her head in remembrance of what used to be my hair. everyone including hairy man turned to examine my hair. i wanted to go hide in the back room. luckily for me two more ladies walked in and mother didn't have everybody's attention anymore. i decided my nails were dry enough and started putting on my sandals in record speed. mother clearly wasn't ready to leave yet and reluctantly got out of her massage chair. her three new friends waved goodbye. she promised to come back soon and learn more vietnamese. i yelled xin chao as i ran to my car before she invited them over for a meal.

LOVE!

I also really like the voice-over in all three ads. This one kind of sounds like Kumble.

LOVE.

LOVE.

disco be stalking me at work y'all.

i was about to wipe this off thinking it was just moisture from my coffee lid but omg it's disco! awwwwwwwwww!

sigh.

Hi noopy. I can't believe it's been a whole year since i fell madly in love with you. And here you are again wandering about some street in a sweater [awwww] and really nice jeans but why your hair gotta be so crazy? maybe like wander into a super cuts one day. it's like ten bucks or free even for you. m'kay?

i hear you're coming out with an ep next month which is great and all but will it fit in my car? is this like a cd? if not why can't you just come out with a regular cd? also i hear you will be using sitar and whatnot for an indian vibe even though you say your soul is r&b. right so ask a few desi people to listen to it before you put it out okay cause that combination could work or turn out to be incredibly cheesy and you're better than that.

hugs,

pri.

p.s. girls wouldn't it be awesome if there were a real website called boysinsweaters.com which featured pictures of boys looking spectacular in their sweaters? girls everywhere would be able to upload pics of random boys they meet [with their permission of course] and there could be a poll where you could choose your favourite boy in a sweater for that day. and maybe it would start a trend and more boys would wear sweaters and the world would be one step closer to being perfect.

there was this blog i used to read years ago. like say 2005? 2006? i don't remember how i had found it but it was really funny. it was about this boy who lived in the us. he was studying i think and he couldn't cook but he'd try and there was this accident, i want to say with a pressure cooker? and he had roomates. i wish i could remember more. this was back in the day. i knew like 4 blogs. em, filter kaapi, lazy geek and tea kadai. does this sound familiar to anyone? help me find this blog. i dont know why but it's suddenly become very important. kthnxbai.