bs-ingh

If you're an Indian living in America, you are bound to hear this at least a few times. "You're Indian? Ooooh, how exxxoticccc!" I generally deflect this by nodding my head in agreement and looking mysterious. Hopefully that means I'm too exotic to indulge in this conversation.

I'm also asked - "You're from India? Do you know the Kamasutra?" To which I say, with a look of complete seriousness, "Yes, they teach us that in grade school. It's a required course."

Once, I wanted to know what the image of India was amongst Americans, so I conducted an informal poll. I asked people what they thought of when they think of India. Answers ranged from elephants and spices to cow-dung and outsourcing. I even got maharajas and poverty.

I do my part to keep up the image Americans have of India. It's just too exhausting to explain otherwise, when I can barely make sense of the contradictions that make India. For people who like things in neat little packages, India seems too messy and uncontained. How do I explain that its the vagaries of India that define it?

And for all those people, who think I'm exotic? Im really not, or at least I don't feel that way. I guess I'm about as exotic as a billion other people. Just ask my pet elephant.

What is it about parents thrusting their hopes and dreams on their children? This is especially the case with Indian parents. Indian children are not only supposed to do well for themselves, but for their families, neighbors, relatives, community, and country.

I seem to have a good job and a settled life. It's not enough. It never is. It is not enough to do PR when one could have been a doctor. Wouldn't it have been better if I had taken Biology in the 10th grade instead of History? What if I had studied a bit more and in a better college? If, if. When one is Indian, life is all about the choices you've made that brought you to where you are and rarely about the direction your life is going to take from now on. It is all a series of mistakes that are compounded together to make the one big gigantic mistake that you are now.

One day perhaps I will have my life made. Maybe I will be a bestselling author who is so rich that people are afraid to argue with me for fear of upsetting me. It will never be good enough though. I will never be the doctor I could have been if I had taken Biology in the 10th grade. This is a symptom of the malaise that has overtaken my country. We are a people who can barely move ahead because we are so busy bemoaning the past.

I am not particularly gifted at designing. Neither do I know how to mix concealer so that it perfectly complements my skin tone. Therefore, designing my blog so that it was mildly appealing took me three weeks. My Twitter page wasn't much easier.

Why must everything be customized? Why can't it already be made, and then I get to choose from the array of options? How do I know what is best? Why are there so many fonts? Is this the "making it easy for the consumer" bit that marketers love harping on about?

I have a hard time deciding what to eat. Different color combinations are way beyond my decision-making abilities. Hopefully someone will notice how bad I am at this and customize my stuff for me. And while you're at it, tell me what to get for lunch.

This is from her blog, "indexed."
It's titled, "Who Can Take Care of Everything?"
Thank goodness someone still has a sense of humor.

Starting a blog is terrifically scary. Well, at least for me. I'm one of those writers that doesn't want to be read. So, one day I decided to be brave and chronicle my life in New York City. I can't claim to know it more than anybody else, but I can claim that I have a unique perspective - that of the middle class, single Indian girl. I should probably begin by saying how I got here.

I came to NY in 2006 because as my father put it, I had made a mess of my life. Unfortunately, he was right. When I left high school, I had "potential." It pretty much went downhill from there. I was indifferent to college, cutting classes and never studying. After I was finally done, I found myself wondering what to make of my life. My parents were sick of my dithering and decided to send me to NY, where my sister lived. So I gave my GRE's, got into a college, applied for the dreaded visa and flew to NY.

A lot has happened since then. I graduated from college (again) and found work at a prestigious PR agency. I guess I did alright. I haven't been back to India since I left. I miss it dreadfully, but I'm used to belonging to two worlds. This is my attempt to make sense of them both.