Monday Wins and Losses

Today is monday: loss

win: productive day at work today

win: non-disastrous haircut and the cleanest hair I've had in months

loss: said clean hair made it only 10 paces out of the salon and into the humidity

loss: managed to step in gum in such a way that it was somehow adhered to the inside of my sandal, under my heel, double loss: not even among the top 100 grosses things that have happened to me in Delhi

loss: realized I have forgotten how to spell sandal while texting the news to Anika (chapal zindabad!)

win: bizarrely clean heel when I got home

loss: got splashed with puddle water, read: raw sewage

loss: while lost in thought, planning this blog post, got spooked by teenaged boys

win: spooked same teenage boys by thinking their joke was way funnier than they did and proceeding to hysterically cackle in the street, I mean, they really got me good

win/loss: peanut butter for dinner

I admit it

So here in Delhi, and I'm going to go ahead and unflinchingly extend this generalization to all of India, there are some pretty fabulous sartorial choices, some hilariously heinous ones, and also some that are down right outdated. For example, the metro is usually filled with a rainbow of colors and enough patterns to make your head spin (or induce flashback hallucinations, really it's no wonder so many people vomit in the metro).

There is certainly an art to pairing Indian clothes. Matching is ideal, the idea of things "going" together is not a universally recognized concept, and no black and brown do not go together, yes your bag and shoes do have to match, and yes, three or more people at your office will tell you within 30 minutes of entering if you have done anything wrong. Even if you thought you were pretty stylin, and feeling kind of sassy that day. You will be knocked down some pegs, be warned.

For the most part I stay true to myself. I take considerate advantage of the new incorporation of legging into the "Indian clothes" category (as opposed to "Western clothes", by the way). However, in much the same way that I enjoy certain things that I am not allowed to do at home for example, eat with my hands, be visibly sweaty, take my shoes off in nice places, and push, I do admit to breaking certain rules. I wear pants under dresses: usually my baggy Indian ones. This is something that Anika does and it looks good, this is something I do, and I look like I forgot to shave my legs, which is usually true. Also, my legs rarely see the light of day, so I worry for the safety of people's retinas when I take them out to play.

The next thing I'll admit to is something that I am actually sort of embarrassed about. I have succumbed to one of the larger trends of the late 90s early 00s, a trend that is only eclipsed by the scrunchy in its uncoolness, the claw clip. Everyone wears them here and there's a reason. It's hot! They don't pull all your hair out! (hairfall is an epidemic in Delhi). It doesn't mess up your hair if you just want to put it up for a second, or keep the front from plastering to your face. That's my justification and I'm sticking to it. To be fair, I resisted for the better part of 5 months, and the hottest months as well. That has to count for something.

And the last thing I'll add: you know that feeling when you get up and all you want to do is put on something cosy, or stay in your pj's and the thought of tights or jeans makes you want to just kiel over (Dad, you know what I'm talking about, sometimes tights just don't cut it!). Well I basically just get to feel like I'm wearing PJs to work most days, so that makes most of the other rules worth following.

Love,
Violet

Je m'amuse my muse: The Metro

So what could bring me back from the proverbial dead to blog another day? Of course a highly amusing, uncomfortable metro ride! I mean, the metro really is a capsule of this city, especially the part of the city that I engage with. Here you can test out all your psychological theories about Dilliwalas (or Delhi-ites for my international readers).

Today on my way to work, I was truly punished for being early. You know when you say that you were packed like sardines, into a car, into an elevator. You. have. no. idea. In fact, I want you to think of me every time you use that phrase and laugh to yourself at how you are exaggerating. You know, the way all you people in the states do when someone says it's hot. Somewhere in your mind a cartoon version of me pops up, with a pool of sweat around her, you sigh and think "ok, it could be worse".

That's how bad this was. I honestly don't even think sardines have it this bad. I was wedged in among the women in the ladies car, with my backpack suspended about 10 inches away from me, lovingly cradled between the smalls of two women's backs, one chatting on the phone and the other audibly sighing and visibly sweating. That's the other thing! The body heat! Development is super into innovation these days. I want to propose some device that can generate electricity from the body heat trapped in these cars. I can't even really claim to experience the worst of it, since I have a full foot of head clearance at the top, but I could feel people radiating from the six or so points of contact I had. 

I want to write something romantic about the small of the women's back that I was permanently pressed against, since I could geometrically map it out and even sculpt it based on how intimately I got to know it over the course of our twenty hot, sweaty minutes together. I'm sure the other girl felt the same way about 60% of the surface area of my body. 

Despite the frustrations about everything when you are packed in so tightly, there are two really fun things that can result from this critical density. 1: eventually you can really just relax and let everyone support you, like a jellyfish, ebbing and flowing with the aanewala/jaanewala. 2: you can understand molecules. You know that lesson in chemistry when your teacher tells you everything is made out of particles bouncing against one another, and the difference between air and the chair you are sitting on  is how close together the little blips are packed. My mind was blown, and I just couldn't believe it. Actually and seriously, until today I had no practical understanding of this fact. I get it now. 

And the difference between when the doors are open and when they are closed? Liquid and solid:

Missed me?

Love, 

Violet