Hindoo Holiday

This morning, I woke up at 4 am. I had a cup of tea, wrote in my diary, fed the cats, pet all the cats, and went back to bed.

I guess it was about 9 am when I finally woke up. I took my time. I turned to Dylan and said, "What ho! What shall we be about today?"

Dylan flopped back down on the bed.

I had an idea. No pressure, though. No stress. At all.

I got dressed and headed out. To Kwik-E-Mart first for money. Then to the German bakery, which was a wonderful mad house. Nobody was angry. Everybody was excited and happy. I ordered a cheese danish ring and bought 1 1/2 pounds of cookies. Next, I stopped at Hunky Vet's. They'd already gotten numerous tributes - popcorn in a can (I just don't understand that), commercial bags of stuff. When the girls at the reception desk saw what I had, their eyes widened. "It's from The German Bakery!" they said. "Quick, hide it so no one in the back will steal any." I wished them Merry Christmas and went out.

Next stop was to buy a money card from Herschel. I know he meets all his prospective dates at Big Chain Restaurant and thought of getting a gift certificate for there. Instead, I bought a card where I slipped in some cash. The next stop on the trip was to give the card to Herschel. He greeted me with a kiss and I slipped the little white envelope into his hand. Herschel is Jewish but not Jewish enough not to have a Christmas tree and enjoy any holiday, secular or religious, that comes his way. "Thank you so much for thinking of me," he said. I wished him a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I was just full of Christmas cheer.

That's why I went to Oak Tree Road. My Christmas cheer was all done and now it was time to have some everyday fun.

I am heartbroken to tell you that it doesn't look like Desi Galaxy will ever reopen. There was a fire there in the summer, I think. I got my favorite masala chai from one of the places in there. Along with my favorite chat (salad) and a lady who would occasionally slip me hot, freshly made syrup-candy called jellaby (I think).

Instead, I went to Bombay Talk, where I ordered a chat and then chai. Later, I got myself some Indian sweets. I went clothes shopping and came away with four gorgeous polyester kurti for a whopping $40 total. I love these because I can just throw them in the washer and dryer and they come out looking perfect. They're also beautiful.

Last stop was at Barnes & Noble where I bought myself my own Christmas presents.

I'm going to go change into my yoga pants and cuddle up on the couch with my cats and some sleazy Regency novels. I have been promised that there is hot, hotcha sex in them.

Le Week-End

Once upon a time, when someone asked me what I was doing over the weekend, I would realize that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, going on for me over the weekend.

Okay. Ask me now.

"Becs, what are you doing this weekend?"

Well, last night I went to see Herschel to get the Howdy-Doody orange roots taken care of. "Honestly, your natural hair color now is white, so you need to be careful what you put on your hair," he said and I told him that for my 60th birthday, he would shave my head. He said he would shave his, too. He promised to come to the party and bring his sister, Holly.

Then I went up Oak Tree Road to Little India and had every hair on my face and neck ripped out.

Then I went to the Sweet & Savory Shop and got a little prezzie for my new neighbors. The desi girl told me what was acceptable, what was generous, and I went for generous and let her pick out the goodies.

Then I went to Shalimar (King of Sweets!) and was oddly given the cold shoulder by the people working there. I know it was a busy Friday night, but...oh. I was wearing a little silver cross on a necklace. Shalimar (King of Sweets!) is not shy about letting the populace know it is Muslim owned and Muslim run, that the meats served there are halal. And I thought, really? Could that really be it? I hope not.

Came home, knocked on my neighbors' door and presented them with the sweets. Yeah, I had to do it last night, or they would never have lasted overnight in my fridge. I know the limits of my self-control. The neighbors were glad and invited me in several times.

This morning, I slept until 8:30. Alert the media. 8:30. Me. The "gosh, it's six a.m., it's late!" girl.

Now I'm getting ready to go fetch Phoebe.

I strong-armed Wes and Sandy into meeting me tonight for dinner at a place midway between my house and theirs.

Tomorrow in the very wee hours, an hour in the Adoration Chapel at St. Fatty's. Mass.

At 10 am, a ride of 20+ miles.

At 2 pm, the A Capella Singers.

Yeah. That's my weekend.

And I think it is so cool.

What They Stand to Lose

I was in Little India yesterday before my appointment with Herschel the Hairdresser.

I had lunch in my favorite little spot, although I realize I should branch out and try some of the newer places. I had the butter chicken, naan, and salad with raita. Again, because it was so phenomenally tasty, I ate too much.

Afterwards, I walked around. The little grocery stores have tightly packed displays of little clay pots and candles for Diwali, which is next month. Now there's a holiday I think that should be appropriated into the national roster, like Halloween. Lights, dressing up, parties, more lights. It's all good. The sixth day (I think) is supposed to be when brothers pledge their support to their sisters and I realize I lost out on something by not knowing my four half-brothers and keeping up with my one step-brother. Five men forced to give me prezzies...It works for me.

On my walk, I noticed all the families. There were a lot of dads out with their kids yesterday. One man came into the restaurant / sweet shop with his seven year old son and bought a huge bag of boxed sweets. Someone told me this is the traditional gift that's given out when a family has a son. (No mention of the daughters, of course.) One guy came in with his two teenaged daughters to order takeaway. On the sidewalks, grown mothers and daughters with husbands in the background. In the stores, girlfriends running into the bridal sari shop, giggling.

It reminded me of Hull Street in Richmond in 1960. Or Broad Street in Richmond in 1968. Gone now, ruined when the first mall opened in Richmond in 1972. That mall has since been abandoned and torn down. But in 1960 or 1968, you would see scenes much like this.

I was talking to one of the Indian women at work. She said she was going to Boston for the weekend. The Indians I know have traveled a lot within America. More than I have, which isn't saying that much.

I said, "Oh - you have family there?"

She said, yes, her cousin. She'd also been to Niagara Falls.

A cousin there?

No, her sister. And her brother lives in Los Angeles, so that's where she's going on vacation.

I remember that when my family went to visit anyone, there was no question of staying in a hotel. For one thing, back then there just weren't any hotels around. If you didn't stay with the family you were visiting, you were regarded as standoffish and were accused of Having The Big Head. I had cousins in Baltimore, an aunt in Alexandria, uncles and aunts in northern Georgia.

Then it stopped. Someone somewhere had had it up to here with staying at my grandparents' house or their uncles' house. Hotels started springing up and it was worth the money to have a bathroom to call your own.

I thought about the closeness I saw on the street yesterday. If these folks aren't careful, they stand to lose it all. Some of it will happen anyway as their kids grow up American.

But I wonder if they appreciate what's at stake. I hope they do. I hope their families don't turn out like my family. It's a lot to lose.

In Which I Welcome Mother India Back Into My Heart, Part 1

Yesterday, I headed down Oak Tree Road in Woodbridge, AKA, Little India. It had probably been a couple of years since I'd been down there, harboring, as I did, a great deal of bitterness about off-shoring, the tidal wave of H1-B visa-holders into NJ and most specifically, Evil Empire and the Maharincess.

Yes, I'd gone to the local Taj Mahal Supermarket, Video, and Cell Phone store a couple of times to pick up good, cheap, plain yogurt and some other things, but Little India is the Jersey source for all things Indian. I didn't have the heart to go back to Little India for years.

But yesterday, after I finished up with Herschel the Gay Hairdresser, who is worthy of his own blog entry, I headed up the street to Little India.

Little India's borders are creeping outward from the initial couple of blocks it took up. Now there's Bhavani's Cash'n'Carry much like a smaller A&P next to Patel's Cash'n'Carry. There's Chowdhury's Curry Express, Ragini Fine Jewels on the street blocks away from the heart of Little India.

Driving through those blocks feels like being in a different country. People drive differently and there is an alarming number of scared little old ladies with long gray braids and Tootsie glasses leaning forward over the steering wheels of rusted out 1995 Honda Civics. They are scared and they are dangerous.

Suddenly, the streets feel crammed. There are a lot of pedestrians on the sidewalks and any number of daring jay-walkers. Every telephone pole is papered with colorful posters announcing a course or a festival or a religious observance.

In the time I'd been away, property had changed hands and there was a lot of new construction going on. Still, a couple of my standard places to visit were there.

I parked and started walking.

One thing I like about Little India is that there's a retro 50s feel to it. When I was a kid growing up in Richmond, on the Southside (tres declasse), Hull Street was our Main Street. My grandfather took me to Cliff's News and Magazines early on Saturday mornings. My grandmother would go to the bank, then walk along, making various stops into various offices to pay our bills. If you needed anything, you went to Hull Street.

Little India is a lot like that. I saw whole families cruising the sidewalks so Dada-ji could get a haircut, Chubala could buy a new sari for a friend's wedding, and the mother of the family would marshall her forces into the little grocery stores.

There are probably ten sari shops in the space of two blocks.

This is where I kind of lose it. I feel awkward at first and am at my most-polite. "I'm just looking, if that's all right," I eventually get around to saying and the good ladies of the sari shops always agree that it's fine.

I avoid one sari shop called Binny, because I was mercilessly bullied into buying a dupatta/shawl there.

Yesterday, I went into "Saree" and among all the fabulous clothes, found there is something the average American white woman can wear without looking ridiculous. It's called a kurti. I bought one made of the thinnest georgette, but with blue paisleys on an intricate beige background. I paid $20 for it but I could probably have bargained them down to $15.

There are snack shops, almost like bakeries, where you can get sweet and savory snacks. Indians are big on snackies, I learned while working at Evil Empire where I was constantly being handed bags of cashews roasted in black pepper, tiny, beautiful sweetmeats made of pure sugar and condensed milk, and any number of snack sticks made of gram flour, rice flour, and lots of spices.

I stopped in my favorite one yesterday and bought a bag of snacky sticks.

And then, there was the visit to Shalimar, King of Sweets and Restaurant.

To be continued....