Oscars commentary

maman: Did you watch the Oscars?
maisnon: No ... did you?
maman: Yes, to see "Slumdog Millionaire", you know.
maisnon: Did you see the movie?
maman: Yes! We saw all of them on the stage!
maisnon: No, did you SEE the movie... "Slumdog Millionaire"?
maman: OH! No, no, no....

roses really smell like ....

I bought my mother roses for her birthday. The Jedi master's response: "You shouldn't have. When you kids spend money on me, I feel sad."


AAAAANNNNND.......SCENE!!

petite

Actual phone conversation:

maisnon: So, Mom... how tall are you?
mom: Um, 5 feet.
maisnon: without shoes?
mom: --
maisnon: I heard today that if you're 4'10 or under, that you're legally a midget.^*
mom: --
maisnon: That's the second time someone's told me that.
mom: MAAAAAYBE I'm legally a midget ...



^* - I have no idea what "legally a midget" might mean.

O.P.P.

(or The Post Where I Turn into my Mother ..... AGAIN)

Dudes, I am not dealing well with O.P.P. (other people's pregnancy.) TBF is 8 mos pregnant and on bedrest. This means, ideally, she is up for 2 hours, and then rests for four hours. Repeat. TBF has two settings: 0 and 90 mph. She has no "slow and steady wins the race" mode. This bedrest thing - so hard for her.

So, I've been trying to be a good friend and call her a couple of times a day, just to check in. I gave her a call, and didn't get her. Strange, left her a message. And called a few hours later. And still didn't get her. And left a message. And called later. And left a message.

I've become my mother. My mom pulled this on me a couple of weeks ago. She called a few times, and I was really slammed with work and couldn't back to her. The refractory period between phone calls shortened. When I managed to talk to her, she told me that she had concoted some kind of "fallen and can't get up" scenario for me: that I was sick and in bed ... and alone ... and with no one to take care of me ... and couldn't get to the phone to call for help.

Mmyeah.

And I did that today with TBF. All kinds of worrying, all kinds of fearing the worst, but trying to be all rational and shit. (Humor me and tell me I had good reason.)

TBF called me - everything is FINE. She just had a number of doctor appointments. She saw my three missed calls and knew she'd best get to dialing, because I have never called that much.

Sigh. Like I said, I'm not down with O.P.P.

Also, my boyfriend on my other boyfriend's show. It's just too much.

Basho

I have mad love for the haiku. I love the delicate balance of it all: the dance of syllables, the threads of meaning in the pauses. I have come to think that this is something I get from my mother. Behold - the incisive guilt-induction by ma mere:

I will be anxious until you come back. Hope you will be able to contact us
now and then.

Wow. Check the precision on that - not an ounce wasted! My moms got skillz, yo.

[Delayed Blogging] The Parental Visit - Sunday

Sunday, I took my parents to the big bad city for dim sum! Mikey, oodie extraordinaire, recommended Lucky Fortune, and he's never steered me wrong yet. (And the name just reeks authenticity, doesn't it?) Members of the crew joined us - I shouldn't be the only one entertained by my parents hijinks.

Examples: My dad kicked me out of my chosen seat next to Sobriquette so that he could talk to my friends because he "can talk to [me] anytime." Nice. I had some kind of an elbow war with my mother - to the amusement of SJM and oodles. But, seriously, she was going to totally take me out! Seven of us stuffed to the gills, $40 tab. Honestly. Why haven't the browns latched on to dim sum yet? (We even had food to take home!)

I took my parents on a meandering tour of SF, culminating in my intended neighborhood - Bernal Heights. (I'm also flirting with Mission Dolores, but what happens on movoto stays on movoto.) So yeah - what I now know about my mother: she *hates* driving on hills. We were driving down a babyish hill and she freaked out. (Kind of made me glad I didn't take her to some of the more "breath-taking" hills in SF!) We walked around and took in the annual Fiesta on the Hill. We went to two open houses - one was so awful that my father, after careful consideration, decided that if the house was given to him gratis, he would accept it.

We drove back to the Peninsula and I became more and more snappish. I am not secretive re: needing alone time. This visit, thus far, not a lot of alone time. I ended up taking a "nap" - i.e. a way to sleep in my own bed (as opposed to my" hugely comfortable, but still not my bed" couch) and to get some alone time. We went to a family friend's house for dinner. These people, and some of the guests, have known my parents since their Stanford days. Because I didn't grow up with family nearby, it's always a trip to see these people who look and act so different from my family, but still have stories of me as a baby (and, as I realise now, tales of my parents at my age - OR YOUNGER! My mother was 26 when she had me.)

I've hit the [couch] every night before 10 pm, but I'm exhausted. It takes a lot of energy to be "on" all the time - and that's what I feel I have to do. Maybe just because this is the first visit? One more day, and a pre-dawn trip to OAK and my parents winged their way back to DC.

[Delayed blogging] The Parental Visit - Saturday

Maybe spending many hours in the car with your parents isn't such a brilliant idea. Translation: hindsight is 20/20.

I took my parents to Monterey to visit the world famous aquarium. I was determined to drive at least part of the way on Rt. 1 (aka the PCH.) Saturday was the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin festival, aka clusterscrew traffic-wise - so we headed down Woodside/84. I last drove that road as a summer associate, i.e. over 2 years ago. Weird.

Lunch was hilarious. We had Chinese (my mom's favorite.) I ordered a tofu dish and the waitress explained that Chinese tofu is different from Indian tofu - jigga wha? She meant paneer. Oddly, she kept explaining things to me about Chinese food for the rest of the meal. I turned to my mother and said "Of the three of us, I look like I'm fresh off the boat??" As she cleared the table, my dad said a few sentences in Cantonese (one of the benefits of being Malaysian, I guess.) I managed to say "thank you" in Mandarin and she fawned all over me "Oh! You know CHINESE! That's so good!!" My dad, of course, wondering if he was chopped liver, asked if she knew Cantonese. Apparently, she does - she just straight dissed him.

The aquarium was superfantastic. Watching the sea creatures - fish, anemones, jellyfish - was utterly relaxing. The jellyfish, lit from underneath in fantastical colors, were a modern art exhibit. What was *not* relaxing was the crowd. I'd like to take a mental health day during the week and check it out. (My mom commented on how many Indian people there were - totally true. A lot of them were South Indian. And assumed that no one else could understand them.)

A long day, but worth it. I can still see the school of silverygold anchovies swimming in synch, the kelp moving slowly like underwater tai-chi.

[Slightly-delayed] Blogging the Parental Visit - Friday

I had threatened my parents with being marched through my entire office - and I followed through! They met most of the people I work with, saw the cafe, kitchens, etc. etc. They like to ask me about the minutiae of my life (like where I shop for groceries) so I thought they'd enjoy it.

Along the tour, we ran into a trial team that was celebrating having just submitted a motion by popping open a bottle of wine. One of the associates seemed really embarassed that my parents had caught them at it - which is funny since she is a mother herself. I wonder if other people's parents are always seen as "the cops." My dad had a nice chat with the partner about anti-trust and economics - all while the partner sipped wine out of a paper cup.

There were a few more hi-jinks, including my mom and I have a giggling fit while my dad sort of argued with a coworker as to where in Kerala my poor colleague had vacationed. As soon as my parents left, people started swinging by to tell me how little my mom is - yup, I've noticed. She can stand under my chin.

I took them to Shiva's in Mountain View for dinner, and we were all safely tucked in by 9:00 p.m.

[Slightly-delayed] Blogging the Parental Visit - Thursday

My mom leaves me a message that she has, in contrast to my suggestion, not packed tennis shoes. "Between my tapered jeans and the big white shoes, I look like a smurf."

Two items:

(1) TAPERED JEANS?!?!?! Dear God, this is what happens when I'm not there to take my mother shopping, or at least veto her purchases. Will have to work on this.

(2) I think the market on ginormous, white shoes is pretty much cornered by Indian emigres.

My little brother (LB1) calls me to say that he is trying to get in touch with our parents and that he has left a message on their cellphone. I remind him that there is no way in hell that they know how to check voicemail. (This is underlined by the fact that their message is "You have reached the Sprint voicemail box for [static]", i.e. someone tried to change the option and just didn't record anything.) LB1 agrees with me. When my parents arrive, I tell them that LB1 left them a voicemail and my dad says, "You know, I don't know how to check the voicemail." Mmmmyeah.

On the ride back from the San Jose airport, I am given a running commentary on how the area has changed in the last 30 years.

Skeet surfin'

On a recent Sunday, I went shooting (shootin' ?) Quick background: I, along with a group of coworkers, won a morning of shooting at our annual charity auction. I had a great time, and would recommend it (and might go again.) The partner singled me out as the person most likely to end up buying a shotgun, but I doubt that very, very seriously.

Here's where it gets interesting: telling my mother. I don't know why I told her - I was afraid that she would freak out about it. (This is the woman who didn't want me donating blood after 9-11 because it involved needles. And therefore, somehow, was dangerous.)

maisnon: So, um, I went shooting on Sunday
maman: REALLY? Were you good????
maisnon: Uh, NO?
maman: Oh, I'm surprised. You didn't hit anything?
maisnon: Well, I hit some....
maman: You know, you have to keep OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON shooting.
maisnon: It's a shotgun - there are only two bullets!
maman: When you aim you need to be a little bit ahead of the target.
maisnon (inner): WTF is up with all of this shooting advice from a woman who has never held a gun???
maisnon: Okay, um, thanks. Wait - why did you think I'd be good at shooting?
maman: Well, you used to play that game on the computer....
maisnon (inner): what the hell is she talking about? Go go Gadget filial ESP.
maisnon: DUCK HUNT. I used to play Duck Hunt on Nintendo and you thought that would somehow translate into some kind of skill?

My mother remains the most hilarious person in my life.

Guilt

As certain bloggers know, I consider myself a founding member of the Partnership for a Guilt-Free America.

Having said that, I'm feeling guilty. I spent on a carefully plotted shopping spree for my upcoming trip to Costa Rica. My mother called me in the middle of the second store. She asked me if my trip was still on (alluding to the recent goings-on in London, and the change in security procedures.) I could hear the hesitancy, and sheer unhappiness in her voice. And yet when she asked me if I was traveling by myself, I still said yes. Immediately, I felt such a pang.

As I get older, and perhaps as more of my friends have children, my sympathy for my parents increases. I still find their wiley ways .... not so wiley. But, still - I can't blame her. I'm her only daughter and, to her eyes, I'm willingly putting myself in (potentially) harm's way when I could just come home to D.C. and spend time with her already. I even for a fleeting second thought about doing just that, and felt an equal and opposite pang. (Newton's third law?)

Not for the first time, I wish it were like the after school special: that my mom could see that I'll by happiest going to Costa Rica, and since what she really wants is my happiness, she joyfully lets me go. I guess it's more like half the after school special - she "lets' me go, but still feels anxious and distressed about the whole thing (and indirectly lets me know too.)

Just like Honey

SJM and I once talked about starting a (comedy) desi writing group here in the Bay-area. The reason we wanted it to be "comedy" writing was because, as I put it, "How many more "my mom - she doesn't understand me!" stories can we listen to??"

I only joke because it's true!

And I'm about to add to the cornucopia.

During my childhood, my parents gave me a great gift: travel. With my family, I've been to Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, Taiwan, Italy, England, and Germany - not to mention India and Malaysia. I've had the travel bug ever since, and it is insatiable.

As some of you know, one of my fave bloggers is getting married in India and I'm very excitedly planning my first trip back in .... EIGHT years. Because India and Malaysia are home to my mother and father (respectively), I've seen *nothing* in either country (aside from the insides of houses belonging to people who are, allegedly, tangentially related to me.) Besides the 'vedding', I'm also excited about SEEING India for the first time. I'm concentrating on South India and I'm planning to spend 3 weeks. Part of the time, I'll be with friends from the wedding, and part of the time, I'll be traveling by myself.

My mother (and here's where the sob story starts) has problems with this. I can understand that, but instead of being direct about what's bothering her, she must throw out a few warm-ups first. Apparently, she feels I should not go to India for that long because:

(1) "Insects will bite you." Seriously, what? And if I were traveling with other people, the insects would preferentially bite them?

(2) "People will stare." As opposed to .... how they stare when I'm with you? Or how I'm always stared at in India? To me, this is part and parcel of traveling in India, and I'm not concerned about it.

(3) "Kerala is like this, and like that" My mother hasn't been to Kerala since I was 12 years old. When confronted about this, she claims that her assertion are based on the observations of two of my aunts. My paternal aunts. Who live in Malaysia. Translation: not bloody likely that she's talked to them about Kerala ... ever.

(4) "I'm not sure how safe it is, and I'm worried." Bingo! We have a winner! This, of course, is what was really bothering her - and it's completely legitimate. I'm not sure why she tried to Jedi-mindtrick me with the former, all it did was annoy me and make me less receptive to talking about this point.

Sigh. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm (more or less) direct simply because my mom is not.

Olé, Ola, Allez

In honor of the World Cup, a story about my mother:

Our family has always been into sports. I remember watching tennis when we lived in France. (Aside: when I asked my father about the scoring, in time-honored paternal fashion, he told me to figure it out. I’m sure I wasn’t the first 5 year old to not be able to decipher “love-15-30-40” not to mention deuce, add-in, add-out, tiebreakers, etc. Sometimes, Pops, you should explain what’s going on.) After we moved to the U.S., we watched (American) football and were solid Redskins fans. At some point while I was in college, Mom turned into a raging basketball fan (but that’s a story for another day.)

All the kids in my family started playing soccer at a young age. Saturday morning games were a large part of my childhood. The parents thronging the sidelines reflected one of my favorite aspects of D.C. – it’s cultural and linguistic diversity. Cantonese, Bahasa Indonesia, Hindi, a smattering of West African languages, Portuguese, Spanish, French – I’ve heard it all at youth soccer games. (I remember listening to an Argentinean dad and realizing that he was yelling at his son in a language other than Spanish. When I asked him about he said “Yes, I’m speaking Italian – that’s where our family moved from.” For some reason, this blew my mind – I guess I just assumed, based on our family, that people moved to English speaking countries.)

The year was 1994 – World Cup Fever was sweeping the U.S. (More accurately, it was sweeping a certain segment of the American population.) This coincided with what was probably the nadir of my relationship with my parents. They just didn’t know what to do with me and were trying to clamp down tighter and tighter, and I was reacting (predictably) unfavorably. Thankfully, our family was able to agree on watching soccer games.

We had watched most of the Round of 16, and we were all arrayed in our preferred seats. The final was between Brazil and Italy. I’ve been a Brazilian soccer fan for a long time, so I was perturbed that my mother was supporting Italy. When asked why, she said (try and follow the logic), “Roberto Baggio is a Buddhist, and that’s sort of like being Hindu.” Not surprisingly, I pointed out that the rest of the Italian team was most likely Roman Catholic. She said, “Still – one is better than none. And I’m sure the Brazilian team is all Christian.”

One is better than none, indeed.

Karoake

I have such a fear of singing. I'd say it approaches phobic levels. I'm not even entirely sure why it is this bad. In part, I'd like to thank my mother. (I program your buttons the better to push them later in life, my dear.) The fifth grade episode: we were doing a musical in school, and I was excited about trying out for a part. My ever-supportive mom told me, "It won't work, they don't like our type of voices." It took me a long, long time to figure out what she was talking about. Also, break me a fucking give! Like if you're desi, you come out warbling carnatically. To quote Tupac, I ain't mad at her...but, seriously - where is the logic?

She hasn't stopped either. Recently, I told her that I downloaded Lata Mangeshkar's Thoda Resham Lagta Hai. When I told her I would burn her a copy, she said she wasn't sure she was familiar with the song. I offered to sing it for her (both of us knew I was NOT serious), and she replied "NO NEED! NO NEED!" Oooh - dissed, by my own MOM! I really need to stop sharing this story with my friends because now "no need, no need" is the favored IM to me.

Comedians.

E.F(ilial).S.P.

In a continuing series about my relationship with my mother:

My father is the social butterfly, while my mom would be much happier holed up at home watching basketball games and drinking tea. She once described her ideal vacation as getting a hotel room on the beach with the whole family, but to be clear - we would not actually visit the beach. When questioned as to what we would do, my mom suggested that we would all take naps.

I spoke with her this weekend and she kvetched about having to go to an engagement party the next day. I asked her who it was for, and she said "You know - that loud woman?" I responded, "Mrs. Venugopal^*?" Now, to be clear - that was the only identifier she gave me. In addition, I've had lunch with Mrs. V once.

I don't know how she's done it, but this is yet another example of how my mother has trained me. I always seem to know what she's talking about, even when given incredibly vague and ambiguous clues. Another example: my mom knows I'm a big movie fan, so she wanted to tell me about a few movies she had seen.

maisnon's mom: You know that one, where he's a lawyer and his client did it ...
maisnon: "Primal Fear"
maisnon's mom: Yes, that was very good. I saw that other one. White lawyer, his client is black...
maisnon: "A Time to Kill, " it was based on a John Grisham novel
maisnon's mom: Very suspenseful.

....

I think if you've known someone for decades, you start to be able to fill in the mental ellipses. I always want to know a person's stories - their personal constellation of events, people, and experiences. It is my primary way of relating to people. I learn so much from that story about the embarassing thing you did in 7th grade: the way in which it is told, where you pause, what you emphasize, your choice in words and pacing, how you've grafted it into your mental map.

That's how I think of memory, and to some extent, life itself: the most bad-assed linked list ever.


^* Names have been changed to protect the loud/innocent. Oh - the party was for her eldest child.

Désolée

The sort-through-my-crapathon is on, and stressing me out. I hate, hate, hate moving - which is why I never do it. I lived in the same house in college for three years. I've lived in my current place for four. Which means the sortage is EPIC. And it needs to be completed by Friday.

That's the background. My mother called me yesterday and asked me if I'd like to come over for dinner, and oh, while you're here, go through some boxes in the basement and some up in your room. I'll admit it - I semi-flipped out on her. I've got a lot going on right now, you keep making me go through the same stuff. Half the time it's not even my stuff, etc. Yeah, I'm not proud of myself.

When she called, I was on my way to the gym. There are certain moments of every day that are ripe for revelations. My first few moments waking up are like that. (Even though I'm a night owl, I'm also a morning person - disgusting, isn't it?) When I was a programmer, I used to wake up and have these realizations about whatever had stymied me the day before. "Oh, but if I code a semaphore..." (Note: outside of my CS degree, I never coded a semaphore.) Time spent brushing teeth is also thought-productive. And, finally, working out. I was mid-hamstring curl when the thought that I had been a complete, unmitigating bitch to my mom struck me. I resolved to apologize to her. Thinking on it, I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever apologized to her. Was that possible? Because I've certainly been super-obnoxious to her!

Thanggod for cellphones - I was able to call her right away. I apologized for my behavior, and her response was, "Okay, you're still coming for dinner, right?" WHAT? I tried it again, with the same kind of stonewalling on her part. Third time's the charm, though: she said, "I just want you to enjoy your things, and not forget anything here that you may want." Aww, how sweet. Which made me feel worse, and better at the same time.

Ah, mothers - they program your buttons, so they can push 'em at any time.

Jasmine

My mommy loves me.

These are from her "more precious to me than my children" jasmine plants. (Okay, that status may be reserved for her curryleaf plants.)

Mom collected these flowers and strung them together for me to wear in my hair. She presented them to me like a kindergartner's valentine - shy smile, open palm. Role reversal.

Like I said, my mommy loves me.

Who are you...

...and what have you done with my mother??

That's what I'd like to know following my most recent phone call with ma mere. She has told me a few times that I need to "slow down and pace myself," and she just told me "not to worry - it will all come together soon."

This may not sound worrisome to you, but my mom is NOT known for being supportive. Evidence:

• the week before my second marathon, she asked me, "How do you know you can finish???" Keep in mind she watched me cross the finish line at my first marathon.
• Studying for LSAT, I mentioned that the logic games are kind of a pain - my mother said "well, maybe law school isn't for you."
• And, finally, when I was buying my place, my mom said, "But, what will you do if you can't pay the mortgage?"

I should be thrilled that my mom has morphed into cheering from the sidelines, but I'm taken aback.

My relationship with my mother has changed over the years (and thanggod!) I think I assume that because she is family, somehow, that THAT relationship will always stay more or less the same. And that's so not true.