Okay, so you can say I've been inspired by these two lovely ladies: OJ on the Boy who brings out the American in her, and the tempesty BrownGirls on he who brings out the UPwali in her.
First up, it's very difficult to put in me in any demographic. Apart from brown and female. And mommy. And foodie. Wait. I just rubbished my premise, din't I?
What I mean is, no one really knows that I'm half Gujju and half south Indian. I know, I know, south Indian is five states, but what do you call a lineage that is Mysore Ayyangar, claims to be both Kannadiga and Tam Brahm, and speaks a dialect that no one in the two states understands completely?
What people do know is that I'm neither Gujju nor south Indian. I stand up to bullies for either, for neither and for nor. I can rave endlessly on varied regional cuisines and cultures, diss anything remotely generalised (Sardars have a great appetite for sex, you say, ha! ask me, and the like) You don't say, they tell me, when I let them in on the secret. They don't call me Mother India behind my back for nothing. It's not always a good thing: that I don't really fit in with sets of cousins on either side is a post for another day.
For now, let me tell you, that I'm slightly blue (yes, yes, post-menstrual cravings for progesterone and all that), plus I miss my in-laws (yes, yes, they're away, it's been almost two months, I have no one to talk to at home, I miss my mum-in-law and I almost sob when I see their empty room, so go on, shoot me) and I seem to have sauntered into a spring-cleaning epidemic on the web. Every site I turn to, has spring cleaning advice: for home, for relationships, even for your ovaries.
And while it may not always seem so, I am quite sane. I do know what I can't possibly spring clean without a miracle: my home, my relationships and my ovaries. So I picked the one thing that is totally and completely in my control: the obese 'Favourites' section in my browser.
'Favourites' is my prescription for reality: all that I am, all that I want to be, all that I want to be seen wearing, all that I'd rather not be seen wearing publicly, the books that should have been written by me, the jokes that save the day, the stuff I want to do with Nino, the stuff I want to do when I'm rich and don't have to work for a living - part escapism, part existential, part inspiring, part worrying, part fun, part day dreaming.
On day two of the mammoth task, I've been told that my lilt has turned surprisingly Mami, even as my ay-chch has turned into hech-ch, (perhaps why I misheard the H Stern link and keyed in Heads Turn), why I'm looking into tayir sadam recipes instead of the mutton roganjosh that I usually turn to on Thursdays in prep for the weekends. Or why Chox is the only gujju on my blog roll, as compared to Suj, T, Nithya, MinM, Broom, GonTB, SGM, Ra...
My dad's DNA is going to be seriously upset.
Trust the son to turn the cart upside down. Staunchly Gujju, he insists on saying eh-pple, jay-c-b, and his latest favourite: jokering. Hho-nest. He even likes jaggery in his dal. *shudders*
3 hours ago