You Know You're Desi if...

So, I was always struck how when I meet a fellow Indian (a rarity nowadays), there's really nothing we have in common except a wry, self-deprecating outlook on what it means to be Desi.

Okay, now after the initial moments of uncomfortable standing around, the Desi jokes inevitably start. I remember from my childhood in Santa Rosa aka Land of White Suburbia (as opposed to where I live now (Asian Suburbia), I would be stranded with my brother at some random Indian kid's house along with the offspring of the only other half dozen Indian families in the whole freaking city.

The evening would usually start with some boring as shit religious ceremony that no 8 year old could possibly begin to comprehend. All I remember was this one "Auntie" that always had M&M rice krispee treats, which she would routinely use to lure us poor suckers into the living room, where some protracted conversation about spelling bees or whose kid could name more world capitals would be in full swing.

The evening would usually be salvaged by one of the following coping mechanisms:
1) OD'ing on sugary Indian sweets, surreptitiously stolen from kitchen and hauled back to the room of the poor little bastard whose parents were throwing the "get-together."
2) Prank-calling complete strangers (although I think one time, some idiot actually called his own house...and his mom in the living room picked up and asked why he was messing around on the phone.)
3) Fighting over the ONE controller on the Nintendo or if you were the only girl in the room like me and never got to play... (bastards) spent hours watching some little nerd lose like 20 rounds of Duck Hunt in a row.

And while I shudder at the memories, there's a curious fondness that I, and I'm sure several other desi kids, have for these warped evenings. Even if I knew nothing about another Indian kid, a conversation could usually always be instigated by "Hey, your parents reuse tupperware too? With that yellow stain around the opening that can never ever be washed out? Sweet."

So, in tribute, I'm putting down the ultimate "You Know You're Desi If..." list. Several of the entries were found online, some are tailored to my own family's tradition (especially in the realms of tupperware usage), and others I know on good account from friends.

Oh, lest I sink into cliche-world and misinform any of you, I'm gonna put in the giant disclaimer about how a stereotype is just that, and if you believe everything you read you're a fucking idiot anyway...

Let the sharing begin... (note: I'm a little frightened about just how many of these apply to my own family...for the hell of it, I've indicated which ones do with a *)

You Know You're Desi...

1. When your mom comes home with napkins stuffed in her purse of the restaraunt she last ate at. *
2. When you become part of that viscious clan who recycles wedding gifts.
3. Take Indian snacks anywhere it says "No food allowed." (Hell yes, *)
4. Wear shorts with dress socks and tennis shoes.
5. Try to use coupons that expired 5 months ago and argue when the store doesn't accept them (Actually funny side note: A white customer at BR tried this, and after she left in an angry huff, I remember my mom, in a befuddled tone, said "I thought only Indians did that.")*
6. The famous: "hamburger, no meat; water, no ice; 3 cups; and 18 ketchups please."
7. Talk for an hour at the front door when leaving someone's house. Then inviting them back in to sit and drink more tea, and then going through the same routine all over again. *
8. Taking 30-45 minutes deciding which indian movie to watch when it only costs 25 cents!...then asking for a refund when it sucks.
9. When people show up late to a function...just in time for the food!(Indian Standard Time). *
10. Plastic covers anything new in your parents' house whether it is the remote control to the VCR or the new living room couch.(* Not anymore, thank god but I have pictures of the old days. In my parents defense, I was a clumsy mofo as a kid)
11. They have one of these three cars, an Olds Cutlass Ciera, a Honda Civic or a Toyota Camry.
12.Your parents tell you to not care what your friends think but they won't let you do certain things because of what the other "Uncles and Aunties" will think. *
13. You have a collection of used wrapping paper and bows that have been saved for re-use. *
14. Your bio-data and picture have been circulated more than on your resume.
15. Your parents won't let you attend college outside of your hometown because you might actually date members of the opposite sex. (* Oh believe me, they tried...then they realized their daughter's a nerd and there was no danger of that anyway)
16.You are ALWAYS taking off and putting on your shoes wherever yo go. *
17. When you were little you always wondered why your American friends waited until after breakfast to brush their teeth when you did it first thing in the morning. *
18. Tongue scrapers are not a new fad to you. *
19. To your American friends, oil is used purely for cooking and not as a grooming aid. * (I'll never forget one of my friends middle school coming over to my house and asking "Um...why do you have coconut oil in your bathroom?")
20. When your American friends cringe at the thought of their parents in bed, you wonder how odd it would be to see your parents get within one foot of each other. *
21. Your parents hate the British *
22. You have annoying nicknames like Chotu * (or in my case, nonsensical vaguely insulting ones like "Porraki" (which means "vagabond/beggar" in Tamil...I totally butchered the spelling)
23. People you call "uncle" always smell up the bathroom at parties *
24. If you aren't married and you turn 25, your parents start wringing their hands and proclaim that it's too late.
25. You have never met half of your extended family *
26. Either you really like Indians of the opposite sex or you can't stand them
27. A horoscope must decide your wedding date *
28. Your parents drink 6 cups of tea a day * (I'd say more like 12...)
29. You are sick and tired of answering questions about "the dot" (A-fucking-men to that)
30. Your friends could not explain your religion to someone if they tried *
31. You could not explain your religion to someone if you tried. *
32. One or both of your parents skipped at least one year of elementary
school. *
33. Your parents push the concept of an arranged marriage on you and try and demonstrate how well it works whenever they're not fighting.*
34. your parents still tried to get you into places half-price saying you were 12 when you were really 15 * (If I had a DIME for everytime that happened..lol)
35. you ask you parents help on one math problem and 2 hours later they're still lecturing *
36. you have a 40 lb. bag of rice in your pantry *
37. you've had a bowl haircut at one point in your life. *
38. your parents enjoy comparing you to their friends' kids.***
39. your parents say, "Don't forget your heritage." *
40. you know what's going to happen in every hindi movie before it happens *
41. at least one family member wears black wire/plastic frame glasses *
42. your parents hover over your tired, caffeine-drugged body at 12
midnight to say, "In India, we studied even more." *
43. your parents expect you'll be best friends with any one off the
street in any given area as long as they are Asian. *
44. your relatives' houses smell like incense, mothballs or both *
45. your parents say, "Calculus? I took calculus in 8th grade!!" *
46. your parents insist you marry within your race. *
47. you learned about the birds and the bees from someone other than your parents *
48. "You want a stereo!" When I was your age, I didn't even have shoes!!" *
49. At expensive restaurants, you order a delicious glass of water for your beverage and NEVER order dessert.
50. your parents have either made you play the piano, the violin or both. *
51. you get nothing if you do well in school, but crapped on if you don't. *
52. when going to other peoples' houses, you always have to bring a gift.*
53. your family always cheers for the Asian athlete on TV. *
54. your parents tell you about how long it took for them to get to
school, how horrible the weather was in their native country, and how much they still appreciated going. *
55. Everthing you eat is sauteed in garlic, onion and tomatoes *


I'll Leave you guys with the full ABCD definition:
A America
B Born
C Confused
D Desi
E Escaped
F From
G Gujarat;
H Housed
I In
J Jersey;
K Keeping
L Lotsa'
M Motels
N Named
O Omkarnath
P Patel;
Q Quickly
R Reached
S Success
T Through
U Underhanded
V Vicious
W Ways;
X Xenophobic
Y Yet
Z Zealous

Fue una tortura...perderte.

    So, I've finally done it...I've managed to destroy my Sony mp3-disk player. And instead of mocking me for dedicating an entire blog entry to my loss and feelings of abandonment, you all should be thanking me for providing...well, okay...I can't really admit to any moral lessons in my tale of woe. Although if you, for some bizarre reason, can find one despite my best efforts, kudos to you.

      Now, as common courtesy, I ought to give the back-story as to why the death of my metallic mp3-playing best friend, (affectionately called "Sony"), has hit me so hard. I've been a music addict since I was about 13 years old (nobody better draw a parallel between that age and the boy-band rage that swept the nation then)... Ever since I randomly got a really ghetto alarm clock/radio from my parents as a "Christmas/Diwali/Oh, so that random Indian girl you hang out with gets presents from her parents?...sigh..fine" gift, I've been hooked. The sweet strains of all the soft-rock/80's songs that I had loved as a kid in static-y radio-edit form! What could be better?!... Oh how I laugh now at my childish naiveté....

     To spare you the painful details of the embarrassing void that was my adolescence, I'm gonna skip right to the ripe old age of 17. At that point, I was a regular musical veteran, having already done several dirty, ugly degrading things to satisfy my craving...like my stint as a door-to-door magazine saleswoman for a shady company of ill repute, that apparently thinks selling 60 subscriptions to surly old people in 95 degree California heat is roughly the equivalent of a low grade piece of crap Walkman. Cough. And people wonder where I get my Jamnesty-donation-hustling skills from…

At this point, I can admit one thing, I’m a clumsy oaf… and sadly this has led to the death of the original radio (which is fossilized somewhere in my parents’ garage), the Betamax of all Walkmans that skipped when someone in Uganda coughed, and several others along the way. Not my fault really. I mean, c’mon who doesn’t inadvertently manage to destroy every electronic device within a few months of usage?

So, having unfairly earned this reputation after the death of my last 2 CD players, my family went ahead and made some sort of blood pact among themselves never to buy me another one. Thankfully, I saw a way around it.

My brother is (I’m convinced) independently wealthy, which is the only explanation I see for his being able to afford the latest of gadgets; nifty cell-phone, mp3-player, a watch that comes equipped with night-vision goggles…you name it, he has it. So every time he upgrades, he generously allows me to keep his discards. What unbelievable luck.

And this is how, with no effort on my part, I came into possession of $200 CD player (Sony, of course, which my bro swears undying loyalty to). It was a love-affair that lasted three years and ended tragically on the slippery rocks of the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica. Hey, at least it died someplace exotic in the grips of a tremendous wave… the others can hardly claim the same spectacular exit.

My long-suffering brother took it in stride and presented me with his latest reject: the super-expensive Sony mp3-player which he professed even I wouldn’t be able to destroy. I would prove him wrong…but for the moment, I must confess I was convinced that this would indeed my last. It was gorgeous, encased in reinforced steel, and after having accidentally hurling it against the wall during an impromptu sock-hunt (don’t ask)…I declared it indestructible. LIES!

     Armed with this technological wonder, I did marathon study-sessions, robotically took notes for hours without breaking a sweat, and blocked out hours and hours of Godfrey and Sherwin’s soul-sucking lectures. I became such a music addict that I had tunes for everything… there was the life-affirming “Believe” and "Te Vi" for those mornings when I didn’t want to go to Genetics (…okay, so every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 am), “Gasolina” (on repeat) DURING Genetics where I would simultaneously amuse and horrify myself by imagining Dr. Sherwin as Daddy Yankee. My gym mix would showcase the cheesy 90’s dance hits by La Bouche, and the walk between classes would be Tina Turner with the latin pop hit of the week thrown in for good measure. Damn it,I had a system. I had a routine. And it all came to grinding halt on Monday.

     My mini-disc player, inexplicably, became corrupted, replacing its excellent sound quality with a cacophonous roaring that, I swear to god, sounded like something out of the Exorcist. I know, I know…you’re all waiting for the point where I blame Pittsburgh for this tragedy. …Yes, well the wait is over…Pittsburgh did it! Its nasty rain somehow eroded the sacred core of my beloved and ruined it forever. It was clearly a personal attack; a pre-meditated icy act of vengeance that I assure you will not go unchallenged.

Imagine if you will my confusion and outrage as this electronic marvel, which had withstood me dropping it on every known surface (including a sink full of water), backpack crushing, and near-constant usage…. being brought to a slow, torturous, hacking death by a little rain. Unreal.

     The walk home was surreal, as I dashed into my apt., sidelining temporarily my study schedule for the three midterms I had the next day, realizing the fragility of life and the importance of sharing it with the ones you love. “I’m here, baby,” I cooed as I plugged it into the well-used charger, and desperately waited for signs of life. Nothing. I flicked the on/off switch gently… and cringed as the same grotesque renditions of my favorite tunes came blasting out. I stared at it, with the growing horror that this was no longer the Sony I knew and loved…it was a monster. Unable to bear it any longer, I fled the room and out into the unforgiving Pittsburgh weather that had been responsible for its untimely death.

     I wandered, lost…bewildered, unable to study in my usual locations… where the memories were still so strong. I didn’t want to live in a world where I was forced to hear the insipid side conversations about who got less sleep in Biochem, or endure a cold walk back to my busted apartment without Alejandro Sanz to raspily inform me that he understood my pain.

The only thing that has been powerful enough to stave off dementia during these four years....was that I had a goddamn soundtrack to help me put into perspective all the good, the bad, and the absurd events of my life. And now what…SILENCE. I’ll leave you all with that.

Celebrate the short but glorious run of Sony. He will be missed. R.I.P.