Winter wonderland my ass! or Damn my thin Indian blood

The hammock curves under the weight of an inch of ice frosted with hardened snow. The deck has become a skeetway of 3 inch ice, on top of which Duke and I both flail and skid. The sun umbrella broke at the base, listing atop the garden table like a macabre parasol. The dog steps gingerly through his yard, his playground now a obstacle course of jagged ice, frozen leaves and plunging icicles.

Neither of us love the winter. His excuse is purely physical - not so much playtime in frigid weather. His shearling coat doesn't allow optimal movement, his feet got cold fast. And yes, I have heard about dog shoes, or sled shoes as the huskies of the Iditarod use. However I was a bad dog mother and didn't order a pair in late November this year (which is when winter began) so Duke doesn't have footies to brave the cold streets of Passaic Park.

My dislike of winter could stem from my thin Indian blood. I mean I'm from the south of India, for God's sake, I never even saw ice until I lived in Poona. I remember the incident clearly. My parents filled a bucket with water one night and left it on the front porch. The next morning the bucket was frozen solid, baffling a country chickling like myself. However my cousin Suji, who was born in the same area of India LOVES the cold. Matter of fact she wants her ashes scattered over Everest when she passes. Who, pray tell, will scatter them I wonder?

Complicating matters is the theory that my blood has thinned not due to the deep Telugu blood flowing through it, but due to the vast quantities of vodka I consumed during my school years. Come off it! I was a young girl released from the chains of Christian church school, who wouldn't party it down on a campus as notorious as University of Maryland's? Earning me the rather amusing nickname of ahem, "Chedalavodka".

Either way you slice it. Thin blood. Thin blood.

In Defense of Arranged Marriages

Having been raised a fundamentally Christian Indian, the dating scene was basically jinxed for me. As an Indian girl I wasn't allowed to 'date'. As a Seventh Day Adventist, I wasn't allow to have pre-marital sex. What chick was worse off than me? So understandably when I came to the permissible dating age - 35 - I made quite a few mistakes due to the lack of chops. Which is why I will endorse the practice of arranged marriages. Now I don't mean arranged in the sense that my Mom heads off to India and scouts Andhra Pradesh for suitable husbands for her finicky daughter. Actually, if memory serves correctly I recall that my grandmother used to collect lists of marriageable men for my surveillance. It was quite touching, that is when I wasn't laughing my ass off. She was quite resourceful, my maternal grandma. Capturing the man's stats on the back of a glossy 8 1/2 x 11 color picture. One guy in particular I remember vividly. He was a dentist that lived in Switzerland who cherished cats and had a passion for Jayaprada, a popular Telugu actress. I don't recall his name but I do recall the glossy photo of him. A 30 something man (keep in mind, I was only 17. ewwwww) with a crest of black hair, big bucky teeth and, wait for it, a monstrously hairy chest. Wirey black hair sprang from under his long sleeved shirt, under his chin. Now this wasn't any old hairy chest, this guy would make a Yeti proud. This guy was a Brazilian bikini waxer's virgin dream! But unfortunately for the poor sot, not mine.

Although I passed on every single one of the hand selected men Grandma sent for my perusal, I now look back at that interval wistfully. Because they were guys she took time to hunt down, investigate and finely filter through her rigid criteria. Did he come from a good family? Was he educated? Did he hold a good job? What was his religious background? Did his community speak highly of him? What were his interests? What were his goals? All these inquiries factored into a single goal: Would he be a good husband for me.

Which is why I'm a proponent of utilizing dating services. These folks take on the duties of Moms and Grandmas, sifting through the streams of potential mates based on indepth questionnaires, compatibility criteria and age/income/location demographics. The questions they ask are akin to something a parent might want to know for their offspring. Like: What's the candidate's ability to resolve conflict?
It is important for him or her to take time to "smell the roses"? Not to mention specific interrogations as to sexual principles. Is chemistry important? If so, how much? This is a sticky point for as writer Regena Thomashauer suggests, there is no such thing as chemistry. There is only desire and dedication know your partner and learn what pleases them most.

More likely than not, the couples who unite using these dating services are so thrilled at finding a compatible partner that they worry not one whit whether 'chemistry' exists. They create it. Take for example my friend Julie who met her beau through one such service. She's been so happy since she met her jet-setting guy that she can barely contain her joy. To extend her happiness she tries her hand at setting me up using her own psychic algorhithms, which I'm sure go something like: Does he like to eat great food? Can he keep up with Rekha's energy level? Does he like wiggley puppies? I just wonder if she throws in glossy pix like my Grandmother did.

SAJA News

As a South Asian (the politically correct way to call an Indian in America) I'm always seeking organizations with like-minded/colored participants. 7 years ago I came across SAJA, the South Asian Journalist Association while browsing the Columbia University Graduate Writing Program. I had the opportunity to speak with the founder of SAJA - Sree Sreenivasan, Dean of students & Professor in addition to being a Tech Reporter for WNBC. Not only has he established one of the most powerful forums for South Asian Journalists, he happens to be a remarkably gifted networker.

One of the forums Saja has created is the Saja annual convention. This year conducted July 12 - 15 on the campuses of Columbia and CUNY. Keynote speakers were Bill Keller, Martin Bashir (infamous Michael Jackson interview), Rena Golden - CNN International. I had the chance to join a seminar wtih Bruce DaSilva, award-winning writing coach for AP, in which Mr. DaSilva reinforced my favorite dictum: it doesn't matter what you write it's how you write it. Best of all for you Heroes fans was the guest appearance of Sendhil Ramamurthy, otherwise known as the dishy Dr. Mohinder Suresh.

Other resources of note include blogs such as UltraBrown with homages to Apu of the Simpsons and UberDesi.