We came across this shrine by the Ganga river in Kolkotta.
I’m not sure who this is supposed to represent.
(Bubai, any thoughts?)

I love all the colors on this guy. It’s quite representative of Indian Deities.
Notice his shoes. 

I can’t wait to go back to Kolkatta and spend more time there. It seems that this visit to India, I’ll have to confine myself to Delhi though. My mom has had enough of my gallivanting (she says) and wants me to spend some time at home this time and NO WORK.
I hear you ma. I’m all for the No Work.

So, dad’s now asking what my plans for the future are.

Bad News.

Well, the second salsa class was way better. I still can’t do the steps without counting though.
I have a long, long way to go.

But, I’m looking forward to the next class.

It’s rainy here today. Reminds me of the Bombay monsoons.

photo ©B.Rich

So, we went Salsa dancing today.
ha.

I thought I’d be a natural. (why exactly I thought this, I don’t know. I’m pathetic when it comes to dancing. I don’t have a single natural ‘dancing bone’ in my body.)
So, we went dancing.

Imagine the scenario.

10 women, 3 men. 1 instructor who’s in love with himself.

The instructor decides that he’s going to rotate the men around.

Methinks, ‘Nope. That’s not cool I brought my man with me for a reason.’*

Instructor tells us to practice steps by ourselves.

wtf man. see * above.

1 2 3 .. 5 6 7

er… where’s the 4? What do you mean, “There is no 4?”

A 6-8 count?

You know, I’m a mathematician. And I still don’t know what you mean.

And here I thought i was in for an evening of fun.

“Salsa dancing,” they said. “Great Fun,” they said.
ha.

ha ha.

I threw death glares at the instructor.
“Thanks for making me dance by myself. It kinda defeats my purpose for being here … have fun with partner and dance. Instead, I’m leery of guys getting too close to me on the swirl.”

We came home and practiced. Too many things that didn’t make sense on the dance floor became clear. I don’t know why we’re paying this guy to dance with himself and show off.
I don’t know.

But I’ll go back on wednesday, cause I’m not a loser. We’ll see what I have to say then.
ha.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHGHGHGHHGHGHHGH.

A friend just sent me this link.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHGHGHGHGHGHGAAAAAAAAAGHGHGHGH.

I feel like I’m living in AI.

A pet, anyone?

I started my day by reading this:

& this:

And got curious.

And then looked around…

B’s birthday today.
This poem is for him. It’s by Elizabeth Jennings, one of my favourite poets.
He’s going to kill me when he reads this

Update to earlier post about Canada. Yes, I managed to go. Mom’s homemade cooking in the fridge is proof that I met Dad.

I was stopped at the airport for one of the ‘airline routine random checks’. I always get angry and frustrated by those. I got angry and frustrated this time. Until I saw the person behind me who was brought into the enclosure for a check: a woman in her eighties, sitting in a wheelchair because she was too frail to walk. I don’t even know what to say to that. Homeland Security indeed.

But about the visa. I had a flight booked for Friday morning which I cancelled. I called the consulate in NYC enough times that when they mailed my passport Thursday evening, they called me to tell me that they had. Overnight Express postage. I got the Visa saturday at noon. In anticipation and bravado, I had bought a ticket on AA’s last,last minute deals for Toronto. I had to buy that friday night *hoping* I would definitely get my passport by Saturday afternoon. 

So I did. I went saturday evening, came back monday afternoon. Met dad. Attended a Pan-IIT alumni in North America Conference.

I was reading a post at Sepia Mutiny about ‘Colonialised Clothing’ and the use of the term ‘ethnic’ in India. Mediocre post, some outstanding comments.

I met an man on the train from Trivandrum to Goa, two years ago. His skin was as dry as a mango set out in Delhi’s sun and forgotten, the wrinkles akin to a rubbery apricot. His eyes as bright as a two year old holding onto candy. We tried to talk. Talk being a euphemism, since I didn’t understand Malayalam and he spoke three languages and a smattering of English. Every time he said something, I would smile. And then look out the window. He would try again. I would smile again. He would repeat what he said, but louder. I would then raise my hands, palms up, shrug my shoulders and … smile. If I could say one thing to him in Malayalam, it would be, “I’m not deaf”.
Now this is the same train ride where a 15 year old I never met before would demand to know why I cut my hair. I didn’t smile that time. I was truly freaked. (‘Are you sure this is the first time I’ve met you?’)

But back to the mutiny. Have you ever had a conversation with someone where you wanted to say “Shouting won’t make it right.” ? Or “Saying something ten times doesn’t mean it makes sense.” That’s how I felt after reading that post.
Wow. It really got me riled up, eh.

So, do ABD’s have a clearer view on issues that exist in India, or are Indian no longer Indian because they’re too western?
I thought these labels were simpler. But I guess the Red Indians ..er.. native Americans would have something to say about that one.

ha ha ha.