So- I met this person. We met so ordinarily- but we quickly mingled into a harmonious and spirited 6 hour conversation on the bus. Ordinary morphed into auspicious. I was pleased, for lack of a better word, since meeting someone that can see past my skin colour and that I can vigorously talk with in India is, sadly, a rarity (well, that's not necessarily true, but I mean, Hindi is the National language and not English, so, you know...). Reason being language barrier and cultural resonance. You wouldn't think the latter would be of tantamount importance, but laughing about the same moronic or obscure show and discussing standardized health care is a sincere delight when all you've been saying is 'ap ka se o?' and 'tickeh', 'atcha' and 'kya?' for a couple months....
Anyway, I'm homeward bound and he's off to explore. I smile a big dorky smile all the way home. I am enriched by our exchange. We end up meeting again, this time not by accident, and it turns out to be even more fruitful than the first. So far so good... We are beginning to like each other, this is most obvious. He ends up staying longer to hang out with me, and I am, again, pleased, rather pleased! I am now filled with alacrity and wonder alongside my habitual loving-India-and-my-work spirit... life is good.
When we are not in the same city he and I seem to chat online more than regularly, and this brings us closer, too. Okaaaay. 'Cool beans' I am thinking! He is off to the desert for a week, and will be internet free. Before his journey he writes me saying he feels that he and I are destiny, and that perhaps I am even his dream woman.
WEEEELLL--- being the hopeless romantic and sucka for swoon-worthy language, I begin to melt a little and let myself get carried away by a wave that has no end in sight and that is part of smooth infinite waters. I count my lucky stars that the Universe has placed me here, in a foreign country, with many responsibilities, so that I cannot make the same mistake twice and get involved rashly with a man to regret it later (my past marriage is testament to this... hahah! Vacation/Out-of-Canada Bianca lets her guard down easily and permits swooning to occur from the opposite sex a liiittle too readily). I tread lightly, not wanting history to repeat itself, but my single-dom, my ego and my intellect get the better of me, and I let myself feel 100% what is most certainly brewing. He is disarming. He is dangerous, I can sense this right away. I love Danger. And I love the feeling that swooshes around me when I think of him. It's a congruous mixture of peace, excitement, confidence and anticipation. The red flags are no where in sight..... until-
Altercation erupts. Something cracks. A change of plans demands that he leave India sooner than expected. He promises to say goodbye. I remind him of what a huge deal Divali is in this country and that, if at all possible, he should try to stay for this festival. I have a couple days off work and would delight in the prospect of spending just a little longer with him before he must go back to his land of origin. We try to juggle travel plans, in vain. Alas, financially and time wise I cannot afford to follow him. I am disappointed. There is wicked lag in our internet chat and this does not help our current predicament. I feel l have been completely and grossly misunderstood. He states that I can't monopolize his final days in India, I am already too attached to him and that I am oversensitive. I am pressuring him to do as I want, subsequently guilting him and ripping all the excitement of our reunion..... huh? I am at a loss of words. Disbelief and frustration overwhelm me. What in the world just happened? So- the vow of a face to face goodbye falls flat. He backs out. Just. Like. That.
I am at that very instant hurt, angry, disillusioned and disenchanted not only with his choice of vocabulary and sudden icy disposition, but also with myself. Why in the world did I get swept away like this? How could words bring about such feelings? Disarming me, leaving me raw and vulnerable, powerless over my circumstance? The dull ache in my heart makes me miserable,and utterly annoyed with myself. Why why why, I repeat in the mirror? Why am I such a fool for love? Why do I let my emotions dictate my reality? How, at my ripe wise age of 32 could I let this happen to me AGAIN????? I had the rug pulled from under me without more than a glance away from my computer..
So; I cry, I write to my mother, I berate myself with self loathing remarks. But- true to my Indian self- I still do my 25 minutes of breathing... and I calm down, and I breathe... I hear the birds chirping on my balcony. I smell the Indian morning: ghee and chapati. I go over my mothers soothing words, I remember that I have a class to teach that afternoon and a staff meeting that morning. I remember how much I enjoy my work and loooove my students. I remember that I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world and that India is about me. Not me finding a life partner, but me clearing the path of my purpose and falling in love with B.
I B R E A T H E . With every inhale I fill with forgiveness and creativity. With every exhale I connect with Destiny. I can only be me. I can only be the naive and trusting person that I am. I am sophisticated and emotional. I love to love.... Do I really want to be anything other than what I am? Oh my God. I feel inspired and peaceful. A few months ago had this happened, I would have chained smoked and cursed the world. Now, because of India's mantra of surrender and patience, I breathed it out and made a conscious choice not to struggle with reality. Ohm Shanti, my beloved blog readers... I am thankful for that boy INDEED!
To be continued......
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
trust instincts
I'm an idiot... When will I learn to stop taking what people say at face value? I don't want to become a cynic but jeeeez, being a fool for love is ruhtarded.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
making out on the day of the Lord? Oh my.....
It's Sunday today.
Some pigeons are making out
on my balcony.
Haiku. October 17th, 2010
Some pigeons are making out
on my balcony.
Haiku. October 17th, 2010
Namaste, Ji!
......Sigh!. It's been a long long while since I sat down and put words to how my world is going. It used to come so easily to me. Now I have writers block or something, so am fitfully working through it and coming back to my blog; a forgotten cyber real estate that could indeed be the ideal vehicle to break through this non writing.
A day in the life of Bianca in India:
I get up early. 6:40. I walk down two flights of stairs, make a coffee and bring it to my room where I sit on my balcony, smoke a ciggie and hang out with Fred, the bird that seemingly likes my company (is it the same bird? Who knows, I like to think so). My neighbours are waking up too: the smell of chapati, parantha, pulses and fried something or other (onion, mustard seed, cumin, butter) fill my nostrils. Yummmm
I come back to my bed and do 25 minutes of breathing exercises. I take a shower and think of my outfit as I suds up. I put my itunes on shuffle and get dressed. I stack bangles on my wrists, outline my eyes (sooo Indian!), shut the fan and walk out the door. I leave my home with a banana in hand and eat it on my way to the market. I have a chai and a ciggie with the patrons. Holy-do I ever buck convention doing this! I am the ONLY woman there, smoking and smiling and trying to look like I belong (do I fit in? Not really, but I like it regardless). I pay the chai guy (5 rupees, jeeesus) and turn the corner to find an auto-rickshaw. It is usually Ashok or Kashmir or Ganesh that take me to Dr. Frederick's in Sector 8. Ten minutes later, after inhaling dust and diesel in spite of covering my mouth and nose with my dupatta (long scarf that is part of the Salwaar Kameez) I get to Frederick's. Sunny is there, waiting for me and Natasha. We drive to the slum, the bustee. We enter the bustee and the colours remain the same but the smells are ranging from putrid to unbearable. Ugh. Not a worried look in site. Cows and goats lazily hang out with the slum dwellers, women speed walking with purpose, men spitting gross orange stuff and chatting away, their bellies hanging out of their wife beaters . Once we reach the school/Clinic I start to teach pretty much right away. I do read alouds, play games, sing and observe. OR- I conduct a conversational English class with the health promoters that work at d.i.r. My first time teaching ESL is not only rewarding but bringing with it a whole new energy and discipline. I love it. Someone brings us chai. We sip and talk. Sunny takes me back to Pause at noonish. I enjoy our chats very much.
Once a week I teach Drama and Arts and Crafts to bustee children that are being integrated into a private school(incidentally, I teach at the school that most of my Pause kids attend). They're a big group ranging from 6 to 16 years of age and wowie do we ever have a ton of mustee (hindi for fun)! We play charades and do improv, we make things with fabric and glue, newspaper, paper plates, yarn, sticks and crayons (we just made a personal mobile. WICKED!)
I eat lunch (usually sprouted mung beans and rice, cilantro, tomato, radish, green beans, chilis and raita) and get ready to teach my kids at Pause. I have two age groups. The Spaceships and the Leopards. We are entering a new theme, Self Esteem, and just covered the concept of being unique. We dance, do improv, play games and share feelings. It's awesome. By 6 p.m. I am knackered. I come back to my room, eat some chocolate bars and get online.
Now it is time for my walk. My neighborhood is so lovely; dotted with parks and a continuous flux of children playing cricket, acting, and giggling. Punjabis seem to be partial to leaving their homes at night to walk around their neighbourhood. Kids play really late here... like at 10pm they're are still out on the streets! I sometimes go back to the market and buy food, eat samosas,momos, chow mien, check up on my tailors to see if my next punjabi suit is ready, and eat a 5star or savory namkeen (Indian snacks) on my way back home.
I enter my room, burn some lavender incense, make tea, get online and get ready to enter sandman... I love my life!!!
Does it sound boring? Indeed, I haven't gone out dancing in many moons. I haven't been to the movies since 'Once Upon A Time In Mumbai' and have gone out for dinner a handful of times, IF that. But I am at peace. Surrender baby, yeah!
There ARE a couple things I miss about North America,though: idioms and C H E E S E.
A day in the life of Bianca in India:
I get up early. 6:40. I walk down two flights of stairs, make a coffee and bring it to my room where I sit on my balcony, smoke a ciggie and hang out with Fred, the bird that seemingly likes my company (is it the same bird? Who knows, I like to think so). My neighbours are waking up too: the smell of chapati, parantha, pulses and fried something or other (onion, mustard seed, cumin, butter) fill my nostrils. Yummmm
I come back to my bed and do 25 minutes of breathing exercises. I take a shower and think of my outfit as I suds up. I put my itunes on shuffle and get dressed. I stack bangles on my wrists, outline my eyes (sooo Indian!), shut the fan and walk out the door. I leave my home with a banana in hand and eat it on my way to the market. I have a chai and a ciggie with the patrons. Holy-do I ever buck convention doing this! I am the ONLY woman there, smoking and smiling and trying to look like I belong (do I fit in? Not really, but I like it regardless). I pay the chai guy (5 rupees, jeeesus) and turn the corner to find an auto-rickshaw. It is usually Ashok or Kashmir or Ganesh that take me to Dr. Frederick's in Sector 8. Ten minutes later, after inhaling dust and diesel in spite of covering my mouth and nose with my dupatta (long scarf that is part of the Salwaar Kameez) I get to Frederick's. Sunny is there, waiting for me and Natasha. We drive to the slum, the bustee. We enter the bustee and the colours remain the same but the smells are ranging from putrid to unbearable. Ugh. Not a worried look in site. Cows and goats lazily hang out with the slum dwellers, women speed walking with purpose, men spitting gross orange stuff and chatting away, their bellies hanging out of their wife beaters . Once we reach the school/Clinic I start to teach pretty much right away. I do read alouds, play games, sing and observe. OR- I conduct a conversational English class with the health promoters that work at d.i.r. My first time teaching ESL is not only rewarding but bringing with it a whole new energy and discipline. I love it. Someone brings us chai. We sip and talk. Sunny takes me back to Pause at noonish. I enjoy our chats very much.
Once a week I teach Drama and Arts and Crafts to bustee children that are being integrated into a private school(incidentally, I teach at the school that most of my Pause kids attend). They're a big group ranging from 6 to 16 years of age and wowie do we ever have a ton of mustee (hindi for fun)! We play charades and do improv, we make things with fabric and glue, newspaper, paper plates, yarn, sticks and crayons (we just made a personal mobile. WICKED!)
I eat lunch (usually sprouted mung beans and rice, cilantro, tomato, radish, green beans, chilis and raita) and get ready to teach my kids at Pause. I have two age groups. The Spaceships and the Leopards. We are entering a new theme, Self Esteem, and just covered the concept of being unique. We dance, do improv, play games and share feelings. It's awesome. By 6 p.m. I am knackered. I come back to my room, eat some chocolate bars and get online.
Now it is time for my walk. My neighborhood is so lovely; dotted with parks and a continuous flux of children playing cricket, acting, and giggling. Punjabis seem to be partial to leaving their homes at night to walk around their neighbourhood. Kids play really late here... like at 10pm they're are still out on the streets! I sometimes go back to the market and buy food, eat samosas,momos, chow mien, check up on my tailors to see if my next punjabi suit is ready, and eat a 5star or savory namkeen (Indian snacks) on my way back home.
I enter my room, burn some lavender incense, make tea, get online and get ready to enter sandman... I love my life!!!
Does it sound boring? Indeed, I haven't gone out dancing in many moons. I haven't been to the movies since 'Once Upon A Time In Mumbai' and have gone out for dinner a handful of times, IF that. But I am at peace. Surrender baby, yeah!
There ARE a couple things I miss about North America,though: idioms and C H E E S E.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
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