Just Meditate

I take a day off of cooking and blame my cough on it. “I am not feeling well”, I tell the family when they wonder why I am being so somber. The truth is that although I know Richhpal means well, and the family is doing a wonderful job of including me, I didn’t want to be around them. Not today. I wanted to be around familiar people. I put on the Indian suit Cub had made me in Chandigarh and went across the roof to Surrinder and Harpal’s house.

Surrinder sees me, smiles and says: “Where were you? I thought I lost you!” I feel a wave of acceptance and smile. I tell her that I hadn’t been feeling well. Harpal and Jaspal are watching the Republic Day Parade and invite me to watch beside and to eat oranges. I see a warm smile exchanged between Harpal and Surrinder and I am happy that they are on talking terms again. I guess they resolved the dog food issue. Surrinder offers me lunch and shows me the new kitchen that is being built. The badminton net has been taken down and replaced by the table saw.

I take a walk with Harpal and we talk about some things going on with me – the same type of people coming into my life – the kind that you want to help, but they end of zapping you of your own energy. He then tells me to just meditate, as he always does, but this time, it makes sense. I hug him and head back to Cub’s.

Cub is home and I want to go for a run before dinner. I am feeling full of energy and would like to run off this cough. He looks at the clock and tells me we can go early in the morning. He prefers to run early before the workers are out in the fields. I don’t want to get up early tomorrow and insist on running at dusk. He starts the fire to heat up my bath water, puts on a jacket, gets his dog, and walks around the field while I around a rice paddy field. I feel fast and rejuvenated. With each pass, his dog follows me and he gives me words of encouragement to do another lap. I feel much better.

The Matrimonial Website

Cub’s father has me log him into his email to see what the marriage broker has sent for the day. Have you heard of www.shaadi.com? Check it out. I figure that if I don't get married in 2010 (mark your calendar) as the pundit has predicted, I still have a chance.

If you think online dating is odd, imagine online engagements. A picture can truly means a millions words - of bickering, fighting, children issues, bedroom issues, etc. I kid. I am not sure exactly how it works, but all I know is that they have a marriage broker for Cub. Every so often an email from the broker comes with a list of eligible bachelorettes. I was asked to look over the prospective wives and was unimpressed by the formatting and lack of real information. All we have to go on here is whether the girl is veg, non-veg, sometimes veg, what her parent’s and siblings do for a living, her degree, her birthday, height and photo. I’ve rejected guys based on screen names, and here we are choosing forever based on a few bits of information?

We go through contestant #1’s profile.

1. She received a masters in home science. Not sure what this means, but it sounds like home economics to me. Richhpal tells me its like my degree and this reminds me of telling people I was a food science major and them asking me if that was like being a cook (I switched majors the following semester). He is happy about her degree. Someone who can help on the farm, he says. What he meant to say was someone to help in the kitchen.
2. Her birthday does match up with Cub’s. She is NOT monglik, as is Cub (and myself). mongliks should marry mongliks. They tend to have marital problems that are negated when two marry each other. Anyway, this seems like the most important bit of information on the profile (assuming all contestants are Sihk and of are similar economic background), but its dismissed. I am shocked and point it out. “She’s not monglik! Shouldn’t you be looking for a monglik for Cub?” He shrugs.
3. She is veg. We approve.
4. She has 2 brothers. He approves.
5. She is 5’6”. Richhpal calls out to his wife and Cub. Cub yells to his Dad to quit looking for him and that he’s not interested. He has his eye on another woman.

He tells me to open up the attachment. As it loads, Amrith reviews the profile. She nods, but I can tell from her reaction that they have been through this many times.

The picture opens and they both shake their head and get up. “Cub would NOT like her. Too dark and big features.”

Top Chef Round 2

I am asked what I will prepare for dinner again, so I decide I will bake the bread that has finally risen, peanut noodles, beet salad and broiled vegetables. Cub, Jolly, Jaspal, Jagdeep and I are watching television and I excuse myself around 6:30 pm to make sure dinner is ready for Richhpal at 7:30 pm. They say something in Punjabi and giggle as I leave. Cub tells me later that they were asking what their elder sister was making for us. They like to joke around that I am Cub's wife. Ha. Ha.

It is 7 pm and it is time for the boys to leave to play badminton. Cub walks into the kitchen and tries to supervise the cooking so that I can also come along. His intentions are good and are appreciated, so I hand him some peanuts to shell. Richhpal takes his seat at the kitchen table at 7:30 pm on the dot. I garnish the noodles with cilantro, sesame seeds, and peanuts and place it on the table. Everyone walks to the table and all the dishes are brought to the table like gifts to the king. My heart jumps when Jolly walks in, takes a bite, and scrunches up his face with his tongue sticking out. I hope he is kidding, but he is not. This family is quite bold. The Chinese girl can’t even cook Chinese noodles! I then find out that the family doesn’t like peanut butter. Why would you let me use an ingredient that nobody likes? The kitchen table is a sad affair –half cooked thyme buttered root vegetables , Italian bread, leftover beet salad and overcooked peanut noodles.

I sit to await the critique before leaving for badminton:
“The vegetables aren’t cooked long enough and they are cut too large. If you cut them smaller, then they would all be soft. Didn’t your mother teach you how to cook? The salad is a hit and so is the bread. There is too much peanut butter in the noodles. If you used less, the noodles would be better. ”

Amrith sneaks a smile at me and gives me the “perfect” sign as she points to the vegetables. Jagdeep says something to Shishpal and he brings 3 bowls of dal and chapattis to the table. I get the hint. Later, Cub eats a plate of noodles and asks for more.

Top Chef Round 1

Richhpal heard that I enjoy cooking (unlike his daughter-in-law) and asked me to cook. This also happened at Harpal’s house, but I didn’t actually follow through on cooking Chinese food as he had asked. Apparently my Asiatic ancestry must mean that I know how to make Szechwan vegetables. I do not. Anyway, I was asked to make an Italian dinner complete with bread and “salata mixta”. This man has lived all over the world and speaks Italiano – I was going into kitchen suicide. A word of advice – if you are in an Indian home, or any “family oriented home” for that matter, most likely the woman of the house is an amazing cook (and if she’s not, she will be through a thorough and constant regimen of kitchen verbal abuse until her food is acceptable to serve at gatherings of high officiates). Another word of advice - one should be most sure of their recipe before serving it for dinner. I am still alive to write this, so dinner must have turned out all right.

I begin at 2 pm after eating a delicious lunch from Amrith. Great, I think. I need to compete with this? After consulting with Amrith, I decide to make a beet salad, eggplant parmesan, and Italian bread. Shishpal, the kitchen help, chops up the onions, garlic and boils and peels the tomatoes. I salt the eggplant and let them sit while I frantically search for a good bread recipe online. I just learned how to make chapattis and was told that the dogs wouldn’t even eat them; so making bread was more than a little nerve wracking. After breading and frying the eggplant, I make the bread dough and the beet salad. The sauce has been simmering for a few hours now, so I blend and season it. It is too sweet so I add some spice and hope that these Indians won’t know any better. Richhpal walks into the kitchen, looks at the clock (it is now 6 pm) and asks how dinner is. I tell him that the eggplant needs to be baked but I am waiting on the cheese, the sauce is ready for the eggplant, the salad is in the fridge and the bread is rising. He looks at the eggplant and asks why it’s in that pan and I tell him that I am going to bake in it. He raises his eyebrows and yells to his wife and she comes in.

I later learn that he yelled, “This girl wants to bake the eggplant in a fry pan! Get her the right utensils! This is why men always run kitchens and not women! Women can’t plan!”

He then watches me chop more tomatoes to make more sauce for the pasta that I didn’t know we were having.

“Didn’t your mother teach you how to cook”, he asks. “I am surprised – your mother is Asian and usually Asians teach their daughters how to cook. If you aren’t going to cook, then tell Shishpal what to do.”

I try to tell Shispal to mash the tomatoes using charades which leaves him laughing and Richhpal the same color as the sauce. I remember working for a terrifying boss and how he would yell at me and think how I survived that, and think that is nothing. I inhale, and exhale and politely take any suggestions Richhpal gives me, hoping that he will too remember that his wife also did not know how to cook when he married her. I then notice that he is not yelling or even criticizing me; he is just helping me in his own way. I appreciate him for that and gain a new respect for him.

As all this is going on, Cub walks into the kitchen from wherever he escaped to, hands me a box of ramen noodles and asks if I want to play badminton. I give him a blank stare and ask him “what do you think?” He looks around, gets the picture, and leaves. The boys go to play badminton, and I eat my dinner disaster with Amrith and Richhpal. Dinner is eaten in mostly silence as I gather a sympathetic respect for the chefs that serve their meals before a panel of experts.

Richhpal eats another bite and then gives his professional critique. “You shouldn’t have pureed the sauce – it would have been juicier if you just mashed it. The spices are good, but it’s too thick. Tomorrow I think you should recook the eggplant with more sauce.” He then looks at Amrith and explains to her how to fix the dish in Punjabi. As he spoons the ramen noodles, which are now in a noodle nest, he says, "these noodles are overcooked, don't you think?" Who eats ramen noodles with tomato sauce anyways?

“Yes, they should have been taken out sooner. I think Shishpal cooked them," I say ratting out the kitchen help. Truth is that Amrith had made them, but I was trying to save her. I should have not said anything instead of being dishonest because he then yelled at Shishpal who then blamed Amrith. Never blame your boss.

He then takes another bite of the beet salad and says its perfect. I smile and decide that I will make it again in the morning.

Cub comes home late and I hear him and Jaspal in the kitchen. I am sitting in a bedroom with Amrith and we are watching an Indian show. I walk over to the kitchen, glance in, and then walk back to the room. I decided to not disturb them since they were deep in conversation. An hour passes and I am tired so I excuse myself to my bedroom. Again, minutes pass, and I hear footsteps from the roof. Cub comes in and tells me that they were talking on the roof about some family matter. He tells me that the spaghetti sauce I made was amazing and I begin to tear up again. I tell him about the kitchen drama and we both laugh. At least there is that.

The next morning we wake up and Cub asks me to heat up the rest of the ramen noodles with the tomato sauce. Maybe he did it to be polite, but to me, it was perfect.

Bad-minton

RIP Badminton Court, Jan 2009 - Jan 2009

I woke up to loud voices in the courtyard. Richhpal takes two glasses of beet and carrot juice and prefers to drink them in the warmth of the morning sun while speaking in a loud tone that bounces off the courtyard walls and into my ears. A lovely way to wake up, I thought. He invited me to sit and drink some tea with him. I then spent the afternoon watching TV while Cub went out for what he said would be 30 minutes. 6 hours later Cub shows up and tells me he went gun shopping with Jaspal. I later find out that Jaspal bought an American rifle from 1917 costing 2 Lackh Rupees ($4,000 USD). Cub tells me that a good watchdog is a few hundred dollars. Seems like a better choice to me.

Later in the evening we go to Remy’s house to play badminton. I came along not to play, but to leave the farm. I had been to this home before and enjoyed that there was a room away from the court with comfy beds and a widescreen TV and two boys that would cook me whatever I wanted (or so I was told). Not any different from being at Cub’s house, but this way I could spend time with Cub, without actually spending time with Cub. When we reached the farm, my plan of eating French fries in a warm bed while watching an American movie, were shattered when we found Remy sick. Instead, we watched croquet – Sri Lanka vs. India – and I reached an all time low of boredom. Watching a sport I have no interest in, in a language I do not know. We were then served dinner and desert. I suppose 2 bowls of scevie – a dish sweet milk dish of noodles – makes up for the last few days. I meticulously took note of the events of the day and decided to later to use them in verbal battle case I decided to get upset with Cub.

Brownies

I watched the beginning part of the presidential inauguration with Richhpal and excused myself to see if I could help with dinner. Richhpal does not eat dinner with the family – he eats a healthier meal in his room around 7 pm everyday while watching the news. It was 9 pm and I was starving. I walked past the kitchen and heard Amrith, Cub and Jaspal talking, so I grabbed a plate and sat down. I was a bit confused why I wasn’t told dinner was ready, but sat down hoping that they would be excited to ask me about my travels through the mountains of Nepal. The entire dinner was conducted in Punjabi and I had no eye contact from anyone. Being left alone most of the day, this made me feel very alone. I slowly ate my meal, trying to make eye contact as to instigate spontaneous English speaking, but had no luck.

After I was done, I sat politely and waited to be excused. Since this didn’t happen and I felt tears fill my glands, I excused myself, went to my room, and cried. I then wiped my face, put a smile on my face (something I have become good at over the years) and walked across the courtyard. I walked over to Richhpal’s room poking my head through the door, hoping he would pat the side of his bed motioning me to come in and sit, and he did, so we continued to watch the inauguration.

A couple of hours passed and Amrith poked her head in the door as to hint that it was her bedtime. I was sitting in her bed, after all, so I thanked Richhpal for the company and went to my room across the courtyard. I peeked in the kitchen and didn’t see Jaspal or Cub, so I went back to my room. A few minutes passed and I heard loud footsteps coming from the stairs that lead to the roof. Cub walked into my room and I began to cry again. He felt so bad and consoled me and promised to not leave me again. I felt emotional and needy and I hated it. He then told me he would go into town to get all the ingredients for me to make brownies.

“You like brownies, right?”

Roles Reversed

The gang has split for a few months. Bonnie is in Morocco, Anthony and Jamey are soaking up rays in Goa, and I am back in Sirsa with Cub. This time I am staying with his family whom happens to share a wall with Harpal’s family. The family of 5 consists of Cub, Harpal’s nephew, Jolly, his younger brother of 27 years old, his wife, Jagdeep, his parents, Amrith and Richhpal, two dogs and two bitches (used in the technical sense). Immediately I was welcomed back and invited to sit for lunch. They have kitchen help, so I was not asked or even welcomed to help prepare lunch. A nice change, I thought.

After lunch, Cub tended to some farm work and I was left to watch bad reruns and play on the painfully slow internet. Sadly, I was anxious to help in the kitchen so when I went there looking for Amrith, I found her watching her Indian soaps and Richhpal in another room watching BBC news on his widescreen. All I could think about what how when I was at the other farm, just a few yards away, Harpal had said that Surinder watched too much television meanwhile all we did was cook and make tea all day.