yeah, i'll eat that.

so it's been a while.

i should officially post and inform you that the rumors are true. 1 month and 4 days have passed since i landed in Seattle, and probably for the first time in my life - i am proud to be back on this side of the world. happy to be in the good ol' U.S.of A. relieved for a whole list of reasons, and sad for a list equal in length.

part of me feels as if india was one of those hallucinated melatonin induced dream sequences. like one morning i woke up and there was a goat playing the harmonica in my bathtub. i don't know how it happened, but it did, and it was real, and i got the pictures to prove it...but why dear God was there ever a goat? How was that ever my reality? Life is incredible. On the 15th I can be with a delhi belly cindy, on a moving train balancing ourselves in the toilet at 3 am - and at the same time - Nordstrom's Rack is having a sale. I have personal investments in both obviously.

my friend paul warned me about my return to this life. 'its like you've been through war elizabeth...its gonna take a while to get it together.' never has a statement been so true.

i miss lucknow. i miss the simplicity of it all. the truth behind living within your means, finding a connection with people not based on what they have, but who they are. working towards something you believe in, both in the professional and personal sense. the strange pride of managing your life with hot spit and a prayer. experiencing the outrageous-ness of monkeys and madmen and oiled braids, and loving every. darn. minute. but i aint gonna lie, i heart me a caesar salad, a strawberry lemonade and clean fingernails. i loved my work, but it is good to move on. i must be satisfied knowing it provided me with a deeper sense of humor, clarity, direction and motivation. its up to me to just accept the good...here's to accepting the good and moving in that direction.

the arrival.

as i exited the plane in chicago at 4:30am - i was greeted by my two besties: quite and clean. in a matter of 14 hours, overstimulation had ceased to exist, and i was gifted personal space, a self-forming line, and easy to read signs of what to do in the event of an emergency. it was a scene straight from the movie Babe, when only after knowing the secret sheep code could the herd understand Babe's requests, and in complete silence and without instruction, lead themselves through the obstacle course into the pen -to win the prize. i was that pig. i was that sheep. i won the grand prize. i stood muhaha-ing at all the aunties and uncles in the foreign entry cue - while i cruised by with my american 'chai is something you order from starbucks biiiittttcchhhes' comrades. customs was welcoming, i was overjoyed when the agent hit on me sans crotch dig, wink, or invasive energy - i let out a big 'aawwwwwww', as i was flattered. good to be home.

immediately, i bypassed baggage claim and found the nearest ladies room. i entered, stood with my eyes closed and took 5-7 deep breaths, frantically searching for some trace of filth....nothing....incredible. for the first time in six months i didn't have to hold my breath, or make a choice between stepping in liquid or liquid, or purposefully not wear my glasses to fuzzy up the situation. it was embarrassingly clean. tasteless air is underrated. there is no shame in the fact i love sitting down when i pee. it is euphoria knowing nothing can possibly attack you through the toilet-while you are seated. i celebrate the death of my internal conflict: the belief that using soap from the washroom somehow makes you less sanitary. like a good product of therapy, i felt safe and loved knowing i could lick the stall wall and not melt of dysentery four hours later. it's a gross truth and it was my reality.

seeing everyone.

being home and hugging everyone was wonderful. while gone, i was never really homesick for family and friends. from my end, there was no feeling of missing out. most of my friends are married or have kids - the days of going out dancing, vacationing, and relaxing are fading out. i knew people were living their lives, and they would still be doing so once i returned. on both sides of the globe our daily routines were monotonous, slowly completing what we have been trying to complete since we began. school. work. kids. sleep. bills. weekends. everyone's day - even mine - had these major headings, but constructed in different orders and colors. with the exception of not being able to make it home for the passing of a man who was a father figure throughout my life (Danny Seals), and the wedding of one of my best sisters (Courtney Gundry) - i felt confident with the distance. i missed my people. but it was good to leave, so i could be reminded of why i love them, why they love me, and why they are my people.

i haven't gone all out yet - eaten everything, seen everyone, pulled an all nighter dancing my heart away- but i've done enough to recognize that i have definitely returned to a new stage in my life and all the ridiculousness that ensues with new shiny stages.

a week or so after i got back Anna, Anisa and I were invited to a 16 year old birthday party for one of our friends in the Baha'i community. sweet 16 party, sounds easy enough right? who would have thought something so straight forward could actually give you the insight of what was to come. Anu's birthday was the persian tea, fingernail painting, place to be. her friends were adorable of course, but i was baffled how children (because that's what they are right?) can have such an intense sense of personal style and grown up sass to accompany such flavor. all i had at 16 was a lack of hair product and cleavage. well, welcome to the new generation. they have hair straighteners, and push-up bras. instead of dancing with the 'kids' in the other room - the 28 andnevertoolate club found ourselves sitting around the dining room table with the parents, discussing Obama's health care plan, politics, and intercultural marriage. my dream of sitting at the adult table had finally arrived, and i wasn't even employed. that night i had an epiphany. i had met Anu and her parents when she was 6. that's right. i have lived in Seattle for a decade. why does this make me feel old. that was more of a statement than a question.

later that week one of the girls friended me on facebook, which i accepted. as i snooped around her page, i clicked on her info to discover her birth year read 1990. my first thought was this had to be a mistake, there is no way a 10 year old could be on facebook, let alone want to friend ME?? and then i realized...it is almost 2010. I am almost 28. i have lower back problems and make the choice to buy and wear orthopedic shoes. i can identify flaxseed in a poopy diaper. i have spider veins. i like to drink hot water. a good nap sounds like a great plan. i watch Suze Orman and take notes. i don't care if she has a jacket addiction. i love her.

note: i will no longer befriend anyone on facebook whose birth year is pre- 1990. so if there are any of you out there reading this, please don't take it personally. also, if you are pre-1990 - some topics in this blog may be inappropriate and misleading about my character.

the plan of getting it together.

so, for my own sanity, i am definitely continuing to blog.

a while back, an episode of Clean Sweep on TLC made the point that we should respect and honor the things we cherish - and remove the things we don't. for example: keeping my home and possessions clean, donating clothes i don't use or need, removing the clutter and excess that hazes your ability to live your best life.

[yes. i am going to be 28. i fantasize about calling in on the Can I Afford it Segment on Suze's show. yes. I obsess about being that favorite guest assistant on Clean Sweep. i will make them cry damnit.]

i actually have come to see this outlet as something of value, something that organizes my thoughts and verbal outbursts, and reminds me of me. with the same immediate powers of the cinnabon center - it makes another day possible. the first part of my plan to get it all together.

cindy and artie, this does not mean that i will be correcting all grammar and spelling mistakes. i will never have it that together, sorry to disappoint. better look to max for that, he's the poet at Berkeley.

that's all i know for now.

yes please.

i smell the end.

Before I left Seattle, i had the most vivid dream.

I was in India atop a huge sand dune, no civilization in sight, screaming at the top of my lungs into the desert sun. It reminded me of a silent scene from Babel. Soundless yet palpable. I stood in the sand, howling, punching, blaring my anger at the world. My throat, long black chow mein hair, and dad's red loose C&K t-shirt from the 70s, being sliced through by the gritty wind. The harder it blew, the more manic my rage. It was mocking me. My voiceless verbal assault ready to wrestle it into submission.

The dream was so startling, i woke up. Due to stress, I hadn't remembered a dream for months, and was surprised this one decided to stick.

I think its safe to say I had a lot of anger before this. A lot of misdirected and mis-intended emotions. A lot of unbalance. Too many things to do, and not having the foresight to start or finish any of them. Sometimes we run our lives, and other times our life runs us. Both are inevitable.

My time here is almost up people. I can't believe 6 months is allowed to escape like that. so quickly. I leave Luckland on the 10th. Anna's last day is tomorrow. my cindy is coming this friday - visiting for 2 weeks - before we both head home on the 20th.

Anna and I are shifting to Urvashi's house tomorrow, so this apartment can be cleared out and done with before we both leave. This evening has been filled with packing, tossing, washing, moving, and praising the sky for finding a hidden travel size Purel. i am sitting in my apartment, wearing a jacked red t-shirt, with the fans torturing my challenged bouffant. Look like ive been through Desert Storm without the desert. or storm. The rains psychotically starting and stopping. Tomorrow is a holy day (again), so tonight the mandir (hindu temple) across the street is on fire. No, not that kind of fire. It's blasting music to make sure allllll the gods can hear. hindu gods are the most sleep deprived of all the gods. we will be marching to this same 3 song track until 10am, guaranteed. all the furniture is piled in the kitchen/seating area, and since the rain can't make up its mind - every piece of underwear i own i have brought inside to dry, instead of out on the clothesline. i am surrounded by filthy clean clothes.

2 more weeks.

i don't know if it is because the date of my return is eminent, or just that i have been here for almost 6 months. the extra - ordinariness of this place, the daily exclamation marks, are losing their hold of me. difficulties are becoming less difficult, and the honeymoon is eclipsing. my football stadium of noise is no longer noise, more like elevator music with a lot of cowbell. yes the honking is still as loud, but it has lost it's power to completely immobilize me. of course the smells are still ripe, but i have grown oddly fond of the 7 deadly scents on my cycle rickshaw ride through the city. men still leer and i still yell, but i don't feel the same hatred and resentment as before. i don't internalize the negativity. walking home the other night a man on a rick screamed at us "Oh Yes, verrrrry nice item!" and then blew a kiss in our direction. i swallowed it, and spit back at him, "You are disgusting! You are a pig! Say hi to your wife!" and dear dear sweet Athena yelled "YOU MAKE ME WANT TO VOOOOOMMMIT!". The words just fell out of my mouth, no asking questions - just another day trying to get home.

the total eclipse of the heart has gone from 'im going to miss the people', to something greater. or little-er. depends on how you look at it.

*while walking home tonight. i passed the trash pile with the abandoned shacks, by the yogurt stand. instead of smelling garbage, i noticed the family of cows who have reclaimed their turf. to my elation they had 2 baby additions to their family. i was happy to notice.

*when deepmala cleans, we both hum to ourselves. two separate melodies.

*i get a tinge depressed when we arrive home, but the happy dirty dogs - all named Babo after anna's grandfather (since she sees his spirit in them) (i don't make it up, i just blog) - aren't there to greet us. kind of like i was being stood up.

*the Barista guy knows my drink, and plays early Enrique Iglesias upon my entry. he also calls me ma'm.

*at the intersection of death in the Haz, i choose to cross directly in front of a massive muffin top Tata trucks plowing through at full speed. I hold my hand out and use the magic 'thereisnowayyoucanrunmeovertruck,iamusingthemmagicsignal' signal. magic hand signal works every time.

*the hide and go seek game with the mouse that is crapping on my bathroom floor. i am at peace with the fact that we will not meet.

*the thickness of the air right before it finally decides to rain.

*surprises. buffalo milk. roti shaped like a monster.

so yeah, im sad to go. im going to miss the connections ive made. my co-workers. the kids. deepmala. athena. the guard across the street smiling and waving. movie theater intermissions. eating a mango by sucking it out through a hole in the top. laughing at ugliness and scabies and pregnant parasites. my fairly simple life and simple joys. its relieving to feel my difference pre and post l-town. the stress and anger diluted by an even stronger dose of contentment and gratitude. there isn't a lot of room for anger when you're full on happy and thankful. its a relief to have that feeling back. to remind myself of myself. and this time, i plan to hold on to it.

cindy comes very very very soon. i pray the blog will do her justice.



namaste y'all.

i look forward to showing my momma this.

there are many things...

....which have happened.

i just didn't feel they were blog worthy.

well, i take that back. here are the updates:

Cuz the monkeys weren't enough.

With no real change in our health (read: we aren't dead yet) - we were jonesing for a because my life isn't ridiculous enough fix. Yes yes, the hair is still falling etc....and although that may be exciting news to some of you - i am kind of over it. bald, and over it.

Because we are creative educated type women, we have taken to hunting the cockroaches hooking up on my bathroom floor at night. The little buggers hide inside the floor drains, and when its dark and quiet, the residents of drain no. 1 venture out to slut it up with the loose ladies of drain no. 2. That is, until I caught on. I hadn't yet done anything about the nightly party in my bathroom - im terrified of cockroaches. And these ones are big fat juicy suckers. I once peeked out from behind the wall and watched one struggling to smush itself back into one of the tiny drain holes - its ass wriggling around in the air - until it succeeded and returned to roachland below. disgusting. angry at being scared to enter my own bathroom after 8pm - i made the decision to overcome my enabling nature of cockroach city, and implemented a plan.

i will kill every last one of them.

The slaughter occurs while babies sleep. We whisper "Shhhhhhhhhh, we are hunting cockroaches..." and then tiptoe in the dark...slowly...calculated...and then SPLAT!! They ooze fear. you would too.






don't be too jealous.

The blogging fast is also in part to work picking up. quiet moments at home are spent napping off sweaty days- instead of writing about them. Just when i was convinced life was becoming normal and boring, I looked down at the back of my hand and noticed a rash forming. little raised clustered red bumps forming a long line, traveling throughout the web of my fingers.

there is no use lying to myself. this is no typical bug bite. i have scabies. of course. because i didn't feel unattractive enough. no adventure would be complete without the one skin rash that carries the weight of the world screaming 'you are dirty'. i feel like some character out of the Grapes of Wrath. "Elizabeth, bring me the lie - gonna scrub yew down. haven't had a scrubbin' since paw lost the harvest." I know this is a bit dramatic. and i know lie is for lice. and i know im not in cali or a sharecropper. but i am allowed to say it. scabies depresses.

I probably picked it up from some kid in a school, or in a village, or some friendly dog. Scabies is everywhere - everyone gets it - its no big deal. right? There is dirt and mites and bacteria - what do you want? yeah, I WANT TO NOT HAVE SCABIES.

To kill this mite crawling around under my skin - laying its little baby mite spawn - i have been applying Neem Oil. i am also scalding my hand each night with boiling water in hopes to seal the fate the damn things. its a difficult balance. purposefully burning the shit out of my hand, while making sure the temperature isn't hot enough to result in a skin graph. I thought i would give the Neem Oil and boiling water a couple days to see if there was any improvement. sorry sucker no go. it is still spreading. Neem Oil (dark brownish in color) smells a little something like.....dirty fermented ass...on a hot summer day.



it is actually kind of amusing. while i am dealing with my own oil issues- anna has hers. in her effort to do everything short of a scalp transplant to prevent the big head shave, she has taken to using Parachute Therapie hair fall solution - a hair growth treatment used by the local ladies who have had their olfactory glads removed. Anna religiously oils here hair every third night and then washes it the next morning. When she first started the treatment, i would sit in bed at midnight and wonder why i could suddenly smell the trash pile rotting outside. got a little closer, and realized it was her. Honeybucket eau de toilet, literally. one month in, it isn't working. but at least our night smells compliment each other. if you have a sensitive gag reflex (or you don't like friends who smell like shit) we are not your kind of people. you will throw up, and probably get scabies as well. athena and anna both have started itching.

tomorrow i plan on getting some 'real' medicine, the kind with western chemicals in it.

(we smell like the train toilet. mom are you ready?)
(yes the brown blob is what you think it is)

uptight americans need not apply.

Deepmala's son (i call him Beta meaning 'son') has been coming over more frequently. He is the most adorable 3 year old, full of curiosity, silliness and little boy attitude. clear gender differences are strongly defined at an early age (like any culture). The preference of boys over girls is no secret. Beta will run jump, get into trouble, demand pani tanda (cold water) from his mom - and get into a whole bunch of mischievous trouble. When Deempala is finished cooking, he will sit at the table and eat with us - slurping his dhal with one hand - munching on roti with the other. His sister (Gudia) sits quietly and smiles, does what she is told, much more under control. both are very sweet children. very intrigued by us ladies, our computers, our strange lives. We watch a lot of Tom and Jerry on youtube.

Beta is just a little younger than my nephew Devin in Seattle. And like my nephew, i am constantly overwhelmed with the fear that the child is going to hurt/kill himself and i could have done something to prevent it. Devin jumping on a trampoline gives me a heart attack. I was half terrified half overjoyed when rode his bike without training wheels. i had to hold my breath. i have nightmares of him poking his eye out as he furiously plays the drums (he is a drummer boy). i am a worrier. i blew on his food to make sure it won't burn him, gave him plastic spoons to play with, and sat with him with a whistle around my neck during his bubble baths - making sure he stayed above the water at all times. My poor poor children will be bubble wrapped until their 18th birthday. Can't you insert some sort of chip underneath the skin to act as a tracking device?

So you can imagine my shock when helping mommy time in the kitchen turned into a mantra meditation exercise for elizabeth to calm herself. i did end up storming into Anna's room to express my fear and concern. she of course calmed me by recalling the story of when she lived in africa, her mother would send her outside with some matches and a tin can to learn how to make her own fire. le sigh. I am so american.

(cutie pie has two knives, just in case one doesn't do the job)

thieves.

So i didn't have to go very far to find monkeys.


Literally 1 hour after the last post, i was woken up from a 5pm nap, by Anna and Deepmala screaming, "MONKEYS! MONKEYS!" "IN THE KITCHEN!!"

"WWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTT?" was i dreaming???

I have never seen monkeys in this neighborhood. Actually the ONLY real-up-close-and-personal monkey i have seen in india so far was the man dressed as one, who tried to attack me in Varanasi. As i described before, people here fear them. They can attack you, bite you, steal you. That's right, i said steal. I found out a plethora of monkey stories through my co-workers. I was going to wait to disclose them until after tuesday when i go to the monkey bridge to see the monkey banana man in all his glory. but since i have managed to have good luck AGAIN in lucknow, we can settle for now.

Amit's Story:

Amit was stolen by a monkey when he was one year old. I will write it again, in case you feel you misread. HE WAS STOLEN BY A MONKEY AS A BABY AT THE AGE OF ONE. As all fairy tales go....his mother had just finished giving him a proper oil massage and laid him down beneath the shade of a mango tree. Suddenly, a mother monkey swooped down and picked him up- taking him high up into the tree - keeping him there for sometime. Obviously his mother was beside herself as she screamed and pleaded with the monkey to please come down and release her child. After some yelling from the father, the uncle, the mother, the everyone - the monkey finally came down after an hour (ONE HOUR i said) and returned the baby unharmed. Amit hates monkeys. They give him the heeby geebys.

Stories of monkeys taking babies is quite frequent. This goes for not only monkeys, but dogs and other animals as well. Take Mowgli for example.

Richa's story:

Richa was in her home one morning when she turned around to find a monkey had sauntered into her kitchen. Not wanting a commotion, she backed away to let it do its thing, hoping it would quickly leave. The monkey approached the refrigerator, opened the door, and stood there side-saddle as it took inventory. It helped itself to two eggs, cracking each one into its mouth separately. Richa claimed the animal cracked an egg as if it were a chef on the Food Network. Monkeys and meringue, yuummmmy. Still unsatisfied, it remained there with the door open, looking for what else was appetizing. Seeing that biryani wasn't available, it settled for the bread- which it pulled out with one hand. It then copped a monkey squat on the banister, where it stayed until it had consumed the whole loaf.

Another time, Richa stood by and watched three monkeys sit properly at her kitchen table with a bucket of butter and bushel of bananas. They ate the butter by the hand fulls, chatted about their weekend holiday, licked their fingers after every drop was finished, and then moved onto the bananas. Ate every single one. Richa is the one person here i have met that has a deep LOVE and affection for all animals. However, monkeys make her very nervous.

Deepmala's story:

Told to me in hindi of course, but this is what i got out of it. Deepmala was outside folding clothes on a table. She heard something beneath her, and looked under the table to find two monkeys and a mirror. Both were using the mirror to get a better look at each other's butts. They stood there, showing off their backsides, entertaining themselves, laughing and monkeying around (sorry). Suddenly, they noticed her and got annoyed that she had disturbed them. To retaliate, they attacked her, bit her on the arm, stole the iron, and pushed off. Deepmala is terrified of monkeys and has the scar to prove it.

I have been told these tales are a dime a dozen. Everyone i talk to says any person on the street can give you a monkey story, each one being more outstanding than the next. No biggie.

I don't know why these stories are so entrancing, aaaaannnnnd I don't really care to know why. For me, they are just magical - so out of my element - so incredible to hear and see. I know monkeys can be dangerous, i know they carry diseases, i know i am from a small town in tennessee, i know i know i know i know - but WOW. monkeys, bananas, butter, and a baby?? YES PLEASE! I am overly elated at the fact that this is a place where stories of monkeys are just part of the flavor. Kind of like how we at home have transfats. They may seem like a lot of fun (and they ARE), but realistically, are dangerous company to keep.

So, to answer the previous question, NO. I was not dreaming about the monkey madness:)

A momma and a baby monkey were roof hopping, and decided to stop by and see what we had for them to nosh on. We were an easy target. third floor, door unlocked, napping americans. They walked right in via the front screen door. Deepmala found them in the kitchen - screamed bloody murder - and startled them so badly they managed to escape with just a peach. Anna and I spent the next hour, bating them with day old roti - trying to coax them back onto our terrace - to get a good shot of the culprits. It worked rather nicely in fact. Besides Anna being chased back into the house a couple times - we got our proof.

what they got.

what they left.

us being brave.

us being really brave.

us being a little too brave.

deepmala being brave, showing us her monkey bite.

the peach.

sorry cheney.

Near death experiences? Check!

Bribing the train conductor? Check!

Finally seeing giant mamalians walking around my neighborhood? CHECK!


Don't you love how the dream wedding in India involves ELEPHANTS?

Now, on to my next search: MONKEYS in Lucknow.

One of my co-workers (Tanuja) explained to me that on Tuesday mornings there is a man who walks the bridge in town (monkey hang out central) - and feeds them bananas. She says the monkeys don't push or squirm or swear at each other to get fed, but line up- one by one- take their banana, say thank you, and then leave. I will be taking pictures of this asap and reporting back.

Officialness

Just in case you haven't figured it out already, it is official.

Anna and I have officially lost it.

Over the course of this past month, probably since Mr. Paul wouldmakeagreathusband Javid got us into the Taj for a breaky, we have become painfully pathetically delusionally hopelessly incoherently inappropriately immature.

Yes, we were pretty stupid before. I know. but we are light years ahead now. we laugh uncontrollably when coworkers try to talk seriously. we poke each other under the table at restaurants. we dance around to motown - imitating our mothers' dancing ability and creating the conversation they would have if they ever each other at a club. we have taken to ordering coke, nachos, AND popcorn at the movies. we walk around at home in our underwear- giving the neighbors a show and tell- in our hotbox of an apartment. we have attained the retched energy of 6 year old girls at a princess party, who snorted a couple pixy stix in the back, and then proceeded to have their way with the jumping thing.

I don't know if it's because we now only have 1.5 months left of this lucknow business - and the bright clorox bleached light at the end of the tunnel makes us giddy with hope. Maybe it was the Taj followed by our second trip to Delhi to see Jeevy last weekend which sent us over the edge (more about that later). I don't know. It could be the fact i am becoming uglier and she is becoming balder minute by minute. Its probably the lethal high from the Larabars and Extra peppermint chewing gum my mom sent in her care package. Whatever it is, we cannot control ourselves any longer. we have lost our minds completely.

Here are the most eminent clues as of late:

Star Trek.

Breaking News, Anna is a fan of Star Treck TNG. Im not joking around. This is a woman who has tutored me in Ruhi Book 6 during college, we have sunbathed together at Greenlake and just barely escaped getting our asses kicked by a heard of obese chicanos. she has cleaned up my puke. Even though I have known her for 7 years, she has just recently decided to reveal this deep dark gem.

One morning we were sitting at the kitchen table smelling ourselves in silence. she looked over at me and spoke, "You know, sometimes when I am working in the office, I want to turn to you and say 'Make it So' like Jean-Luc Picard in Star Trek..." (enter hand gesture and FRENCH accent on the John Luke Piccard).

..........everyone holds their breath and waits...... ...... ... . . .

I was so embarrassed by this blurtation of honesty - and hilarity of the situation - i literally began to cry for everyone involved.

So now that she was out of the battlestar galactica closet, we had to go see Star Trek the movie when it came to Lucknow. I had never watched Star Trek in my life, I was too busy with Little House on the Prairie - but i am a loyal friend - so we went. good movie, but i understood nothing due to the fact Anna was blabbing on and on in Vulcan the entire time. And in true Vulcan fashion, anna mind melded me right then and there in front of the gods, aunty and uncle across the isle, and Jean Luc...fascinating.

And like any inappropriate joke, or extreme accent, or catchy idiotsyncracy, i was immediately hooked from that moment on. it is possible we have taken it too far though. i should have known there was going to be a problem when Amit (coworker) caught us mind melding each other randomly throughout the last half of the movie. or in the rickshaw ride home. or at the office. or on skype with seattle. or in the middle of the night. or on facebook.

if you don't watch out, i will mind meld you.

Dr. K Chaudhry.

Dr. K Chaudhry is the mommas milk that sees us through this endeavor. He is the ringleader of our rickshaw wallah riding, mango eating, kurta sweating circus. If you don't know who this man is, you haven't spent enough time talking to us. I am quite the fan. She is quite the junkie.

In a perfect world, Anna and I would show up at his house in Delhi (we have done our research), introduce ourselves as fans from America, and he would invite us in to sit on his couch in the background as he records his grammy worthy performances of Metalica, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, and Avril Lavigne. The good Dr. got his start on youtube after he auditioned for some talent tv show in india- but was rejected for lack of ability. He decided to prove to the officials and the world that he was in fact talented - and 700 songs later - we never miss a new upload. He has become quite pleased with himself, confident in his prowess (as can be seen here), and even commemorated the death of our dear Michael Jackson. Dear sweet watermelon eating man.

We laugh, we cry, we religiously imitate. At night as india gets its beauty rest, his warble of a mating call can be heard four cows down, three trash piles over. He has become one of our constants throughout all of this. no disappointments.

Hair.

Vanity has officially flown out the window here. Our fate has been officially sealed. It has dried up along with the cow shit i stepped in today. been removed along with my desire to eat anything with the words palak or paneer in the title. I have mentioned in several blogs how Anna has lost 1/3 of her hair. Well, i am happy to report that her hair still is falling out at the same rapid rate - a pace so intense, it would make a woolly mammoth nervous. Anna has become incredibly obsessive about her follicular regeneration - which she rightfully should be. Please don't inquire about it. Please don't give her your opinion. Please don't offer any thoughtful tips. She will regurgitate every sleepless night medical blog she has read, every webMD self help cure she tried, every guru she has prayed to. Its a sensitive topic. We have in fact had a couple real arguments about it which have lead to me being wildly insensitive and her crying. The only non-rejectable reassurance i have managed to offer is: if she actually goes bald, i will shave my head and wear large earrings along with her.

I shouldn't have said anything. My hair got jealous of all the attention her hair was receiving - so it has started falling out as well. It is not as noticeable as anna (yet), but it is definitely happening. My bouffant has become mouse-ish and ordinary. I really took noticed on the train ride to Delhi last week. In an effort to relax, I took my hair down in the ac car, began to stretch out, and there in my hand was a clump. Anna informed me the average person sheds 50 - 100 hairs day. I ran my fingers through it again. oops. another clump. Just for fun, i began counting the individual strands. 10 minutes later I reached 100 and stopped.

I should mention Athena's hair was lonely too, and went on strike as well. What is stranger than seeing a white lady, chinese lady, and mexican lady in a cycle rickshaw? Seeing a bald white lady, chinese lady, and mexican lady in a cycle rickshaw. I'll make sure to cut out the newspaper article for you.

Hair is a woman's crown and glory? After this experience i would say so. After us being so sick, it is the only physical feature i have left empowering me to feel attractive. and now that this is pretty much gone, we have lost hope. and lost our minds along with it. my pretty is an endangered species, 200 a day and counting. anna no longer does activities which would put stress on the tresses. no more getting a hwbd (hair wash blow dry), no more running at the gym, no more letting it be to fly around in the rickshaw. she won't even stand in front of the ac for fear it will be blown off. I wait for the day she comes home from work, walks through the door, reaches up and grabs a hold firmly, and removes her hat of hair. "Here hold this, i gotta pee."

On a typical saturday night, you can find Anna and I in our underwear - in 100 degree heat- frantically chasing after the rat sized hair tufts foxtrotting across the kitchen floor to the tune of the ceiling fans. we lay in bed and feel the strands take their last breath and let go. falling in the food. clogging the drains. onto the keyboard. tickling you as you sleep. You can actually see it floating through the air if the light is right. Sometimes when she is on the computer she notices a big chunk clinging to her shirt. She reverently cups it in her hands, says a silent prayer, and lets it fall. all three of us american morons fearing the inevitable. greeting the nightmare receding hairline each morning with a hopeful smile. saying 'up yours' as we stare it down before we go to bed each night. Poor Deepmala has been sweeping and sweeping. The more that falls, the more we tell her to clean. Denial denial denial.

The other evening anna and i were frustrated, balding, and overheated due to a power outage. Lying in bed with just the light from the laptop. Anna bargaining with God - for the 5th time that week - to please turn the electricity back on (this is a common occurrence when the power goes out, and so far we have found that we get a better response if she does the talking). We glanced in each other's direction, and for the first time recognized what had actually happened to us. It was the epiphany of the year. We had done it. It was all over. We had peaked.

Some girls peak in middle school, some in high school, some when they go away to college and start waxing their goatee and wearing cute scrunchy brown boots. Unfortunately this wasn't our fate. We had peaked in hair ball city India. Not out with friends dancing, or on a beach with our husbands, or at the park - being one of those ridiculous women who looks even sexier after a couple of kids. We had peaked in cowtown. I was on the toilet and she was checking for lice in the mirror when we should have been out photographing our 6 month window of opportunity. i could smell it. we had become the most disgusting, sickly, smelly, bony, unattractive women on the planet. We just had to say it out loud to fully commemorate the momentous occasion. I of course went first.

"Honey, you look like shit." loving smile.
Gaping silent laughter "Honey so do you!"

we laughed as if our life depended on it. how ugly we had become. wiping the sweat from my upper lip trying to make its way into the crease of my mouth, she went fishing for a couple more strands and was actually surprised at the 50 she caught in one go. and for the next 20 minutes, and laughed until we about threw up.





Who is with us for a good head shave?