Desi Boy = 15 Yr Old Caucasian Girl

A freshly graduated Desi boy is the same as a fifteen year old Caucasian girl. India's sub-hundred years of independence and the over two hundred years of dependence is to blame.

I realise that the above two statements are pretty bold and I will lay down my case. I am talking about a recently graduated desi boy in the US of A with a fresh job, trying to soothe terrible wounds of being separated from those other guys that were his friends and family for the entire course of his master's education. In a new city, all people are alien, and he only has one roommate's shoulders to seek comfort rather than the ten plus pairs of shoulders he had in his little university town. He starts his social life in the new city with two commandments...all americans are the same and they have no culture. This implies that there are no American new friends to be made and no culture to explore other than movie and cartoon oriented theme parks. Then he proceeds to get himself a cell phone with unlimited in-network calls to be in-network with his lost buddies.

India is not blamed till this point.

Then calls are made. From everywhere and every time. That is where they push my 'Jack-ass' button. The phone is glued to the ear making that desparate call to his soul-mates from driving to work to eating dinner. "I understand that you need to keep in touch, but damn son, there is a difference between keeping in touch and being an active part of the life of your male friend from 600 miles away!" Americans, with their super-duper-sensitive radar for fruit-cakes call such behaviour 'Gay'. Anyway, one needs to have a riding lawn mower, a truck with either a gun-rack or a fishing-rod-rack in the back to qualify as straight in this free American society.

The worst a desi boy can do to me is talk incessantly on his cell phone about mundane stuff with his BFF while in the car with me driving or while at my dinner table. If that desi boy is an old friend, I will ask him to mind himself, but if he is an acquaintance, I cant even tell him what an asshole he is. "No one gives you the right to make me look like a damn chauffeur and isolate the rest of the occupants of the car because you decided to have your chat at this very moment." I am not talking about making or taking a courtesy call. Desis talk about everything under the sun when someone else is driving. Moreover, they do it so naturally. Did I miss a course at school or a secret all-men-clan meeting in India because that behaviour is highly dis-respecting and ridiculous.

This is where India comes in. I blame the immaturity to the sub-hundred years of independence for this dis-respectful lack of etiquette.

And when he is not on the phone, he is on Orkut scrapping the very friends he spoke to for hours or finding cute girls to drop stupid scraps to.

That is the exact equivalent of a fifteen year old Caucasian girl who, if not texting her friends is on MySpace commenting at their profile. Caucasian parents, please be a little liberal on those H1B laws and increases your chances of finding a daughter in everyone of us.

Carbon Output

I took a survey here: link
My carbon output is 17 tons a year.
I am ashamed of myself.

Latina Hottie

Zelaya is a hispanic name, a last name. Read about its origins here: link. That is the name my Laya came with. I thought it was one of those weird racing dog names and cut the 'Ze' part out. I think other dogs understand her heritage and that is why her butt gets sniffed the most at the dog park. She is a Latina Hottie. The doggie equivalent of Eva Longoria. I love both Laya and Eva though, in very different ways!

Anyway, she is pretty popular at the dog park. All the ruff-and-tuff dogs want to woo her, sniff her butt and run circles around her. They try to hang out together but Laya takes off after a few jogs and they are left behind in a cloud of dust, feeling dejected and humbled. Not many men can hang out with a dominating feminine partner who is genetically more proficient than them. This one time, a great dane was at the park and thought he was it. The ultimate man. The supreme dog at the park. Towering over every other dog, he was running the pack...till he met Laya. The wooing started when he tried to unsuccessfully out-grace her but trotting around her. They ran together for a while till Laya decided to sprint, and sprint she did. The great dane was left standing. Every dog and their owners were left standing as they watched Laya finish a complete circle around the doggie lake with so much grace to shame a peacock and ease to shame a Leapord. It is the effortlessness of her strides that make it so much beautiful to watch.

She is on a liquid diet now that is easy on her stomach but is making her lose her tautness. My Eva is turning into J.Lo.

stinkfist

The 104 degrees hit my face like a hammer, knocking me out of my jet-lag as I left the office building after work on 19 July, the day I returned from England. I am back and a little changed. Every little trip I take, every person I meet and every post I read is making me change. I sometimes feel like a dis-formed object searching for form. This is something that I infer and not what someone else tells me. No one sees what I see. I speak to no one what I think and feel. Laya is the only close living being that is a witness to my metamorphosis.

After my one week absence from the blog world, I almost feel alien to everybody I knew before the trip. New posts, new comments, new tags floating around make me a little uncomfortable. I feel like getting out of this stinkfist and immersing myself in my own world. I have over 1300 pictures to look at from my six day trip and I think that is what I will do.

All I have to do is take the right trip, meet the right people and read the right post.

Gone Fishing...

I will attempt to enjoy an 'English summer' vacation starting tomorrow till 18 July. My involvement with the blogger world would be spotty but I will guarantee to make up for the lost action when I get back.

I also discovered something today about myself. I get very annoyed and somewhat emotional when I see child abuse on tv. I saw this movie tonight and it put me in a not-so-good mood. I need to stay away from such movies. I guess I take a very aggressive stance against child abuse and abuse of women.

The Headache

Eating Chewda right now. I had to buy the damn packets for $2.99 each because someone consistently refused to make and send them to me. Not only that but the someone that I am speaking about had the audacity to send me a link on how to make Chewda!!! I am Bengali. Laziness is my birthright no one should ever attempt to change regional stereotypes! Gone are the days of goodwill and charity. The world is a cold and harsh place now! Where is the love 

I wonder why they allow headaches in today’s society. Of all the things they find a cure for, mankind has not found a cure to persistent headaches. They invent Tylenol go-tabs though, to suppress that headache anytime and anywhere till it is time to buy another packet. I wonder if this is a conspiracy, because it is surely a kick-ass theory. You can not tell me that our parents got vaccinated with small pox vaccines due to which we young’uns didn’t even need to see that needle but the best they have done is sell Tylenol in a jar of 200. You can not tell me that five theories exist (Bouyancy Theory, Bernoulli Effect Theory, Horizontal Vortex Theory, The Coanda Effect and Condensation) on why the shower curtain blows inward during a shower but no one commissioned a successful study on that one super-tylenol that will eradicate headaches. Not only migraines, even simple headaches.

I dedicate the above paragraph to the fact that there was critical bit of analysis regarding a mile long list of excel files and access databases for a customer to be done with a splitting headache. I was however successful in locating the problem and finding the answer. I brought the lingering headache back home to see a letter casually jammed between the door and the frame. At first I thought it was the leasing office complaining about my dogs peeing in the grass. Yes, a few weeks back some Indian dudes (my kind of Indian, not the 'Red Cloud At Sundown' named kind) who play volley ball outside my apartment made a fuss to me (very rudely, I might add) that my dogs peeing on the grass is pollution. These guys can be found standing outside their apartment, talking on their cell phones and flicking their cigarettes casually, spreading second hand smoke and undegradable ashes. Anyway, the letter was about a fine for not paying rent on time which successfully blew off a few more fuses in my cranial matter. The fine being a total of $100, I immediately rushed to the leasing office to sort out the problem. My cheque was not processed because they couldn’t find out what apartment I was in using my name. I am on the freaking lease!

“Your name is not in our system, Sir.” My roommate made it to the piece-of-shit state-of-the-art-system that manages the useless and inadequate complicated and intricate functioning of this organisation. “We will wave off the fine this time, Sir. Please make sure to put the apartment number on the cheque the next time, or I won’t be able to help you again.” A threat! A god damn threat!!! I couldn’t believe it. By this time, more sparks had flown off my butt indicating that the standby fuses in my head have blown off. Quoting Bill Engvall, when I woke up today, I didn't want to be a Jack Ass. They just pressed my Jack Ass button! “I have been paying you rent promptly. Please make sure my name appears in the system. Your system is retarded not accurate. That should not be any of my problem you lazy ass people”. In their defense, the manager did take down notes to talk to tech-support to fix this issue.

I then walked the dogs while successfully losing enough sweat to water a small back yard. That’s when I slipped into my shorts and t shirt and went to bed. Laya took the cue and cuddled in beside me. Eddie managed to find a thrash bag and I woke up to eager groans and licks on what was left of a plastic bottle and some empty cans of Laya’s food in the very middle of the living room.

Now that I am awake after an early evening nap, I have to hunt down this Chewda that I am suddenly craving so much and just have to eat. Sometimes, I feel like a spoiled trophy wife! Therefore, I had to fish out this factory made bag of chewda when I could be eating home made chewda made by someone who knows how to make it and maintains a food-blog to brag about cooking skills.