previouslies 2: all the posts fit to print

In 2011 I did this pretty comprehensive "previouslies" post. Here's where that leaves off, including some stuff I probably would have posted about, had I been doing this sort of thing regularly:

• In December 2011 I picked my brother up from O'Hare and flipped my car. That was possibly the first and definitely the last time I will ever leave the house without say goodbye to Jon after an argument.
• In February 2012 I started a new chapter in my career, fully putting the dungeon industry in the rearview (though I didn't know it at the time). My boss micromanaged and bullied, and I was her favorite punching bag. Giving so much while being made to feel incompetent is why I didn't post all that much. 
• In December 2012 Jon and I went on a gun-shooting /wine-tasting (not simultaneously) outing in Michigan with friends. Because I am me, the first weapon I ever fired was an AK-47. I pray I never hold another gun in my life. I didn't like how it felt to have that kind of power in my hands. It was a taste of the paranoid anxiety I would later experience post-partum. 
• In May 2013 I went into labor with my first child. After an immensely stressful several months at work, my water broke in my cubicle, 20 weeks early. The baby's lungs weren't developed enough for her to survive.
• In August 2013 we bought this house. Jon and our dear friend/realtor, Mala, did the legwork to find it. We were so excited to have a garage and a yard, and had big plans (like compost!). Less than a month after we closed, the pipes from the house to the street had to be dug up and replaced. I don't think we ever regained any homeowners' excitement and our yard looked like a construction site for the better part of four years (if you don't count when it was covered in snow). 
• Madelyn moved to Chicago.
• In December 2013 we lost baby #2 at about six weeks. She had a genetic defect (Trisomy 16).
• Jon started working at the same place as I did, but on a different team, in fall 2014. He is a natural, and people noticed.
• Two days before the one-year anniversary of Baby's due date, I delivered a healthy baby girl named Ro. She literally is the light of our lives. Grieving the first two are now complicated because technically we couldn't also have had Ro if they had survived. I had an emergency cerclage stitch put in to prevent labor and was on bed rest (and would have stood on my head for the entire pregnancy if I needed to). Delivering her separated my pelvis. I needed physical therapy and a walker to get around for the next four months, and the only thing I could do for her was nurse, then give her to someone else to be walked, burped, changed, bathed and the rest. Missing that bonding created a tender spot deep in my heart, kept sore by the guilt of feeling jealous and sad when all I should be is grateful. She kicks that very spot each time she pushes me out of the way to run to her father or says NOT YOU, MOMMY. I am happy that they have a great relationship, but I'd be lying if I said being left out doesn't sting.
• Jon's entire family came out for the holidays in 2014. I was thrilled to have both sides together for Ro's first Christmas. It was especially sweet to see her 2-year-old cousin Declan play with her. I wasn't exactly the best hostess, however, what with the walker, pain and trying to wrap my head around being somebody’s mother.
• I came back to work with pretty serious post-partum anxiety and my boss told me there could be a promotion. But they were "pretty sure they wanted to give it to" the woman who joined the team nine days after I gave birth (if you do the math, she was there for about three months and I had been there, slogging away, for three years). If I wanted it, I had to *prove* I deserved it. I was too stupid to see the mind game for what it was and redoubled my efforts. This was a very cruel thing to do to a lactating, sleep-deprived person who could barely walk, and I suffered as much as you can imagine. But I got the promotion. The other person was promoted a few months later.
• We took Ro on her first plane ride to see Jon's family in Southern California in September, 2015. She was 11 months old, met her great-grandmother, said hello to her sister, dipped her feet in the Pacific Ocean and caught her first major-league baseball game. We were there for our anniversary, too. It was a great time.
• My brother got an apartment in Chicago, within walking distance of Wrigley Field. He also *finally* started making some money back on his Cubs season tickets. I got to see them win the NLCS with him in 2015, which was amazing.
• Our "rainbow baby" turned one on Halloween. We celebrated, Oz-style, and everyone dressed up. Jon's mom flew out to see her granddaughter and hand-made her gorgeous Dorothy costume.
• My father's youngest sister, who lived in Mumbai, passed away from aggressive cervical cancer. I couldn't believe that I'd never see her again.
• In May 2016, our neighbors helped us break down our rotting backyard shed. There was a possum skull under it, and evidence that it was using the supports as a teething ring.
• My brother was set up on a date with a lovely Indian girl, who is friends with the wife of his BFF. Sounds good, right? Apparently she reminded him too much of me, which is a dealbreaker.
• HighCon was on tv, skulking around in the background on CNN during a Joe Biden speech. I always knew that guy would be famous. Now he and his dude have a house in the Hamptons that I very much hope we visit one day; it's beautifully appointed.
• My brother gave us a tremendous scare in August 2016 when he was retaining so much fluid in his chest and abdomen that his organs were impaired. He called me from the emergency room and had to be admitted. I believe five pounds of the stuff was drained out of him while he was in the hospital. He changed his diet and is controlling his sodium. But that was hella terrifying.
• My mom, Ro and I walked in the India Day Parade in my hometown on August 14, 2016. It's kind of a big deal because 40+ years ago when my folks settled in this place, there were only a handful brown people, and even fewer Indians. The existing community sure didn't make it easy for them. And now there's a parade!
• I went to my 20th high-school reunion in August. I had tried on about 25 dresses (including selections owned by a friend who goes to galas) but ended up with a $20 navy cotton dress from Target. And it was great. Had we been able to bottle the nervous energy in that country club banquet hall, we could have powered a city. I found out someone I never imagined had been reading this blog for quite some time (I had included the address in the wedding thank-you cards but didn't expect anyone to follow the link. If you're still reading, hi MSE!). I also got two apologies--only one of which I remember in context now (shame on me). Everyone should go to those things. You never know what can happen! Apparently the 10-year is when people hook up, and the 20-year is when people apologize...Perspective, amirite?
• My parents went to Singapore in September 2016 to visit my cousin and attend her daughter's First Communion. I was honored to be asked to make the veil. Jon and I realized that while they help us a lot with Ro, we can actually handle it ok without Nani and Papa. It's just nice to have them around.
• Ro started "preschool" at her in-home daycare. It still felt like a big step; there was a personalized backpack and all.
• Around this time, I sought a therapist's advice (a recommendation from two middle-school friends whom I haven't seen in decades--thank you, social media). She confirmed I exhibit classic signs of high-functioning ADD (and coped much better before kids, when I pulled all-nighters and only had to worry about myself). Many revelations followed. It is still a struggle. I didn't want to take medication because Jon and I were focused on trying for another baby.
• Our workplace had a huge project that had been in the works for years. In September 2016, my husband and I spent the weekend of our fifth anniversary working 10-hour shifts both Saturday and Sunday. We managed to get lucky and spent the money we'd saved for a celebratory weekend away on tickets to see Hamilton in October. It was worth every single cent to see it before the hype got nuts in Chicago. We were legitimately blown away and treasure having had the experience.
• I worked several overnights for the big project go live, including (my one day off in nine days) when I ACCIDENTALLY CAME IN TO WORK AND NO ONE STOPPED ME. This was a breaking point, because I thought I had messed up scheduling care for Ro and fought with my family for no reason. I started applying for other jobs.
• My college girls and I went to the "I Love the '90s" concert. Coolio, Color Me Badd, Tone Loc, SALT-N-PEPA and others. Salt-N-Pepa have still got it. The others made me feel kind of sad. The Allstate Arena parking lot was wall-to-wall minivans (we arrived in an Odyssey) and women were getting sloshed on tall cans of goodness-knows-what spiked fruit drinks. We almost got in a brawl with some broads in front of us who were so busy taking selfies they didn't realize they were spilling their drinks all over us. #goodtimes
• The Cubs won the World Series. I was at the game with my brother when they clinched the NLCS, and walked home through the drunken streets of the city in my David Ross jersey. It was *almost* as good as Grant Park in 2008. My brother was there for the actual win, and let me hear/see the pandemonium via phone (Shocker--I was working late that night while Jon and Ro were at home). I pray that more things in life can make my brother as happy as he was that day.
• I made Ro a pretty convincing Mary Poppins costume for her second birthday. She had a party at the jumping place and will not consider having her party anywhere else.
• I missed my first deadline. Ever. It wasn't for work, but still. A little of piece of me died that day. But you know what? The world kept turning.
• The country elected president number 45. I still feel some kind of way about that.
• My SIL a and our nephew, Declan, came to visit in November 2016. They had a blast playing together and exploring the children's museum. I wish we lived closer.
• PP and her dude bought a house on the South Side of Chicago that Quincy Jones used to live in! They didn't figure that out until more than two years later when they saw a documentary about his life and recognized their street.
• CC moved back to Chicago. I don't get to see her much because she runs content and social media for a publication that awards five-star ratings to hotels and restaurants around the world--and she gets to try those places! She got me a cool insulated water bottle from the Ritz Carlton in Lake Tahoe. It's a cool job, but damn, does that woman hustle. She recently got back from the Maldives.
• After multiple rounds of interviews, I got another job offer (commuting to downtown Chicago every day) and was about to accept. Then I peed on a stick. One thing my current job did let me do was work from home on bedrest. So I had to turn down the offer.
• Jon made Madelyn a "doggie deck" for her puppy, Frankie, who could tell I had a baby in my belly and would snuggle him. Sadly, her life was cut short because of a car accident when I was 22 weeks pregnant and she was about 22 weeks old. 
• I had a "preventative" cerclage put in at 16 weeks because by pregnancy NUMBER FOUR, they finally decided I have a bum cervix and maybe they should sew it up to keep the baby in.
• In April 2017 (Easter weekend), we revealed the baby's gender by having Ro open a series of plastic eggs in varying sizes until the smallest one burst open with blue m&ms and shared the video with the family. After all that we'd been through, we didn't want to make it into "a thing" until we had that healthy baby in our arms.
• I had an emotional Mother's Day.
• My college girls threw me a surprise baby shower, pretending it was pp's birthday party. I was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude.
• PP took me to see Aladdin on Broadway (in Chicago). She had to escort me around the theater because of my delicate situation, but I'm so glad I went. It was so very good. SO good. I loved it. This was also the first time I used a ride-sharing service (that was weird).
• July 27, 2017 I took Ro to have ice cream with Ri and her two little girls. I dropped Ro off with my mom as she got off from work at the hospital and went for a "routine" appointment to have my cerclage stitch clipped because I was at 36 weeks. Apparently, during the 20 weeks the stitch had been holding my boy in tight, my skin had grown scar tissue all around it. This proved to be incredibly painful unimaginable ways--the MD couldn't get it out in the office, and called for backup. The backup couldn't get it out at the hospital's Labor & Delivery department, and called for backup. And the big boss (who started the practice and whom I followed from my old office because she's so good) busted out this huge, gray metal box with all sorts of Medieval-looking hatchety tools and STILL couldn't get it out. I felt all of that digging around, despite the IV meds. They took me to the OR and finally did it under an epidural. But they cut me up, so they had to cauterize the wound so it didn't get infected. At the end of all that, one of the OBs says "well, we'll know what to do for your next pregnancy." Uhhh...
• Madelyn got a new puppy and named her Olivia. She's more hyper than Frankie was, but is the same breed (Italian Greyhound).
• Again, I went beyond my due date. I was in labor for more than 24 hours and never dilated more than 2 cm, as cervical tissue that is scarred and tough doesn't really want to expand too much. TMI, but my doctor was trying to "break up" the scar tissue, manually, and I felt all of that, too. I just wanted a healthy baby; cervix be damned. But it just wasn't opening, so they rushed me in for a C-section. Apparently, he was practically knocking at the door. Kash was pulled out at 8:33 a.m. August 26, 2017. He is as limitless as the sky.
• I feel like exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be, having written only two posts here about him. I have spent just as much time marveling over his milestones as I did with Ro. But working full time with two small children? It's a wonder any of us are still alive, let alone documenting anything. Let me say that the entire time I was pregnant and rejected by Ro, I would hold my belly and say "please be mine. please be mine." And he does make me feel very appreciated.
• My MIL and Madelyn were watching Ro while I was trying to recover from the surgery and learn how to nurse this kid and make it from day to day in the hospital. Jon ended up having to stay home with Ro, who couldn't bear to be without him. My mom stayed with me in the hospital and would get up and go downstairs to work every day. I was doped up and they'd give me the baby in the middle of the night to feed--one time I caught myself nodding off. What if I had dropped him? Cue the exponential surge in anxiety. Those post-partum days were trying times, y'all.
• Guess what? Even though I didn't push to deliver Kash, the sheer widening of my pelvis to make room for him to grow messed with the ligament holding it together and it separated. Again! Hello, old friends physical therapy and the walker! 
• October 2017: We FINALLY got a handle on our Garbage yard. We got the front and back leveled and re-seeded by professionals.
• Jon turned 40 on Halloween 2017. I had presented him with a baby on his 36th birthday, and just grew him another, so I didn't think I needed to top that. He flew out to LA for a World Series Dodger game the day before his birthday (he saw them win) with one of his BFFs. Unfortunately they didn't win the whole thing, but he was back home in time to celebrate with his birthday twin.
• Ro wanted to dress as a witch for her birthday/Halloween. And she wanted another "jumping party." This time the theme was Sofia the First--the best princess of all, in the collective opinion of Ro, Kash and myself.
• There was a terrible fire in California, and the place where Baby's ashes were laid burned to the ground. I was much more sad than I expected. The cross remained standing, though.
• Ro and Kash met Santa at Kohl's. Ro wouldn't talk to Santa, let alone sit on anyone's lap, but after hemming and hawing, she got within 10 feet and practically whispered that she wanted an Elsa Barbie-like doll. Kash was his jolly self and bestowed smiles upon everyone in the store.
• We traveled to Ohio to spent Christmas with Jon's family at SIL m's house. It was really nice, and the kids did fairly well on the seven-hour drive back and forth. Ro had a blast with her cousin, Declan.
• I interviewed for a higher position at my employer. I did not get it. Jon moved to a different team in our company.
• We had a crazy amount of snow in February 2018. Jon threw Ro into a snowbank almost half as tall as he is. She sunk into the fluffy stuff and screamed with delight.
• My brother had been a bit...lax, shall we say, about checking in on his pacemaker. On Valentine's Day, 2018, he had to have heart surgery to replace it and have the new one attached to his heart. It was discovered that 36 years of stress from irregular bloodflow, 11 open-heart surgeries and living life, his liver has developed cardiac-induced cirrhosis. A week before this, a pipe in the unit above his apartment burst and destroyed his entire place. He moved in with us while his apartment was cobbled back together.
• In March I got pinkeye, then had a severe reaction to the medicine given to me by urgent care. My face swelled to Hitch  proportions, so much that I could hardly see, my eyes were smashed almost shut. I missed Angel07's '70s birthday bash, which sucked because I enjoy disco.  
• I interviewed for another position at my employer. I did not get it, either.
• Ro went to my friend's daughter's unicorn-themed birthday and rode a pony disguised as a unicorn. With all her heart, she believes she met a real unicorn. I'm hoping to let that slide for as long as possible.
• This was the year most of my friends and I turn 40. Several years ago, joking around, we talked about all going to Greece for our fortieth birthdays. The planners that they are, they actually made it happen. The gems that Jon and my mother are, they made it possible so I could go, leaving my 3.5y and 7m children for 14 days. I took off in May 2018. I am so eternally grateful for not having missed that opportunity to bond with my friends and take a severely needed mental break.
• I carried both a manual and electric breastpump through three countries and pumped/dumped everywhere from the beach to the club. I would be damned if my vacation was the end of my ability to produce food for my kid. I was worried Kash would reject me when I came home and steeled myself for the possibility, but he was very happy to see me. As was Ro. Thank goodness.
• Work stress escalated to new heights. There was a lot of drama that I thought would have been resolved while I was out on maternity leave, but in a shocking development, it had been left, festering, at my feet when I returned. I meticulously cleaned up that dumpster fire, then desperately tried to get away from my boss within the company. I finally realized that wow, I *am* competent, and even actually kind of good at this job. Imagine! My "work wife" and I managed to get onto another team, which came with new challenges.
• My brother invited us to Cubs Family Day at Wrigley Field on June 26, 2018. Kash was just learning to crawl, and he managed to army crawl on the actual field. Ro ran the bases but she was more excited about the inflatable jumping contraption. We have photos from the dugout that will last a lifetime.
• My dad *finally* relented and got rid of the hideous, overgrown evergreen trees in front of my childhood home (which had probably been there since 1978). Now the kids look forward to playing on the extra-wide stoop/sidewalk when the weather is warm. They can't play at our house because #mosquitoes.
• My cousin and her family came to visit from Singapore. We took the week to be tourists in our own area (Chicago is the best city in the world) and had so much fun at the Arboretum, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, Brookfield Zoo, IKEA, the waterpark, all kinds of restaurants and playing around at home. I wish our families lived closer.
• Jon arranged for a few friends to do a cool escape room for my birthday as a surprise. Unfortunately we didn't beat it but it was fun. I would love to do another of those. He may have even ordered a bunch of random locks and stuff in the hopes of opening his own escape room...
• Little man turned one in August 2018: It was baseball-themed and I was a mess. I stayed up almost all night painting a comparable refrigerator box as Dodger Stadium with Kash's "stats" on the big screen (I had made a similar painting of the Emerald City for Ro's first birthday). We rented a park pavilion and a lot of the guests arrived before we did, with the food. But I think people still had fun. There were water balloons and so much Cubs-cake frosting all over the baby.
• Ro took gymnastics at the park district. She would not participate. I had to do the moves with her on the floor (sometimes moving her arms and legs for her), and she did not warm up until the last week of the second session, when she was all about it. But she could do all of the tumbling perfectly at home. Apparently those age ranges reference social readiness as well as physical capabilities.
• My old team banded together and ousted my old boss to another area where she would not have any direct reports, kind of like a coup. The person who had filled in for me while I was on maternity leave with Ro was promoted to her position. I can't help but wonder if the boss realized that she backed the horse that would kick her.
• My brother rented out his boss's brand-new bar for my 40th birthday. I curated a '90s hip-hop playlist that was appreciated by a surprising number of people. The paint was barely dry in the bar, but we closed that sucker down. And apparently the bartender was very generous and my friends--many of whom got babysitters for the evening--were not accustomed to drinking that much. We moved to a nearby hotel bar and closed THAT one out as well. I still hear about some of the subsequent hangovers.
• Ro wanted to be Sofia the First for her birthday. I ordered a beautiful costume as soon as it became clear I wasn't going to be able to make anything that year, not even four hours' sleep in a row. Her jumping party theme was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
• Work really went off the rails. Without belaboring the details, senior leadership hired a consulting firm to basically blow up everything I had designed and implemented for the previous six years...except it wasn't actually broken but working quite efficiently, as we proved time and again. And yet, when we pointed out the flaws in their plans, one of those jerks had the audacity to say "It doesn't matter that you don't want to do this, your CEO signed off on it." Clearly he didn't care about improving the business; they were going to take their money and bounce. Their proposal was for two people (myself and work wife) to essentially move the equivalent of the leaning tower of Pisa from one end of the yard to the other, brick by brick. But it would still be leaning and not improved much at all. We took our concerns up the chain and were told "it's dumb, but we have to do it" and that contracts had been signed. The consultants estimated it could all be completed by two dedicated people within three days. It took these two people more than 500 hours to do it over a three-week period, and I was still fixing it for months afterward . The deadline? October 31. I pushed and pushed and got it extended all the way to November 1. I worked more than 100 hours those weeks. I worked overnight October 30, because I didn't want to miss my baby girl's and husband's birthday. The consultants sat in my cubicle and wouldn't leave because #deadline. I got to the bakery at 7:02pm, begging them to unlock the doors so I could pick up birthday cakes. I missed trick-or-treating. I missed seeing them dressed up. I pretty much missed her entire fourth birthday. The adults didn't even have dinner because they were all waiting for me and it was simply too late. It was too late for too many things. I don't know that Jon will ever forgive me. But by that point I was so brain-dead, I didn't have the mental capacity to realize I should have just gotten up and left. That the expectations were beyond ridiculous. I got my resume out instead.
• Ro started ballet and tap class. She participated! A little. She says she "loves ballet," but I think the real thrill is seeing her dad or my mom or me through the window, watching her.
• Kash became obsessed with any kind of sports. But mostly BASEBALL! And when someone says "Go Cubs!" he loves to yell "NO! I SAID GO DODGERS!" Jon is over the moon. Ro roots for the Cubs. Sports makes people do strange things.
• February 4, 2019. I interviewed outside the company and didn't hear back. I thought they ghosted me. I accepted that I was staying and that staying was probably for the best.
• My brother bought a house eight minutes away from us in May 2019. It is the same raised-ranch layout as our house, short one bathroom and one bedroom. It has a deck AND a patio. And a garden. It's adorable and so much space for him. We are planning on crashing there while we sell our house. I have been taking one ball from the ball pit he gifted my children and leaving it hidden somewhere in his house, every time we come over. Eventually, he will have all of them, squirreled away under his bed, in his pantry, in the liquor cabinet...
• Jon is dedicated to making our home the "smartest" around. I swear, every piece of electronic gear is synced with a smarthome device, or motion detector, or app or camera. It's very helpful with the children, but a hacker could look in on us anytime in nearly any room to see that we are just trying to get through the day like everybody else. And we don't seem to get tired of pizza.
• May 2019. The outside employer called to see if I still wanted the job. I told my current boss what the offer was and she took a day or so before saying they wouldn't counter offer. Message received. I gave my two weeks' notice and shocked everyone who assumed I'd be a lifer. CC and I promised ourselves not to do that back at our first post-grad job in 2004.
• We hired a master gardener (my brother's BFF's wife's mom) to re-landscape our front yard. What a difference! She added hydrangeas, which I carried in my wedding bouquet. Of course, now that we are looking to move, I'm starting to warm up to this house.
• Ro adamantly doesn't want to play any sport but soccer, BECAUSE SOCCER IS HER FAVORITE. Jon turned on the Women's World Cup this summer and watched the U.S. take the title. Ro asked, "what is that on tv? Can I watch Moana instead?"
• Three months before what would have made16 years (on and off) at the organization, I took the leap to the new job. I'm so scared and a bit heartbroken. But not nearly as sad as when almost two weeks at the new gig went by without my talking to another human being out loud (just on instant messenger/email) outside of saying hello to the receptionist at the front door--then found out the old job already replaced me. I pray that I haven't made a mistake.

And here I am: Perched at the edge of a giant bed in a Grandstay Hotel in Wisconsin. Working on a certification for this new job. I'm alone and very lonely. I forced myself to stop in the tiny downtown near my hotel is and had ice cream for dinner sitting on a wrought-iron chair/table and peoplewatching, imagining a simpler time. Then I FaceTimed my family and felt sadder. Kash was reciting I Love You, Through and Through and I Am a Bunny to me because we've read them together so many times. Ro told me about all the fun they had with the sprinklers and the waterballoons at Nani's house and ran off to whatever she was playing. I wished Jon Godspeed and hung up.

I cobbled together what must've happened during the last few years by scrolling through photos on my phone. Now, more than ever, I can feel years--not just hours--whooshing past while I'm standing still, trying to process it all. I had a practical stranger re-create a photo of me taken in 2012 at this same training facility. Side by side, it is plain just how much I've gained in seven years. Weight. Wrinkles. Scars. Gray hair. Sorrows. Joy. Memories. Knowledge. Experience. Wisdom?

Is this what it's like to get old?


For old time's sake, check out this ancient post about parking, back when I didn't use capital letters.

dismissed

I have basically spent all of my extra time trying to wrap my head around the current political climate. This sentence basically encapsulates what my personal feelings are about the entire thing; in that the second there was hate speech by a potential presidential candidate (as it was for Senator George Allen for his use of "macaca" in 2006), that should have been Game Over. 

"I have friends and acquaintances who are Trump supporters. They genuinely do not understand today’s shock, particularly from minorities. These Trump supporters do not understand that many minorities believe the people who voted for Trump endorse his racism and bigotry — that those voters care more about sending a message to the political establishment than they do about the rights and welfare of human beings." Full Story

I have reached out to friends and acquaintances who voted for/know people who voted for the other party in the hopes they can help me understand. What I'm getting is that the things that informed them and influenced people's votes were: 

1. the sanctity of life

2. jobs jobs jobs jobs

3. shaking up "the system"

4. Hillary Clinton being a liar

5. the 2nd Amendment

6. They don't believe Donald Trump *believes* what he's said, and it was an Art of the Deal-style ploy to win that will be abandoned when he takes office.

What I'm getting from this is that whatever combination of these things is more important than the fact that the President Elect gave white america a wink-and-a-nod green light to entertain their most hateful ideas, such as: 

a) yanking on headscarves

b) teaching their kids that telling African American classmates "I'm going to own you, soon," is OK.

c) spray-painting "Whites only" or swastikas on public property

d) telling anyone who looks like they may have been born in a different country "you're going to be deported soon."

e) cornering young women and grabbing them between the legs "because I can."

None of this squares with the rhetoric I have been fed about the purpose and the "values" of the country where I was born and have spent 95% of my life. I don't feel safe. 

I respect the process. 

I respect the office of the President.

I will teach my child to respect the office of the President

I will teach my child to stand up for other people's rights.

I will teach my child not to bully.

But I'm not going to have a good night's sleep for a very long time. 

this is my hometown...now

I can barely function at work. I am paralyzed with fear. Last night when I finally fell asleep,  I dreamed that the government threw Jon in jail for having married me and put Ro and I on a plane to India, where we were dumped on a beach and made to walk for days until we got to a town.

I don't feel safe anymore. I was pumping gas and another car pulled up behind mine, waiting for me to finish. Why did she pull up behind me, instead of the other four cars there? Was she going to hit me with her car? Was she going to yell racial epithets if I took a second too long removing the nozzle and tightening my cap? Do I even wait for the receipt? Does she have a gun in her car, and if I yell back, would she shoot me?

Nothing happened, but I have never pumped gas so quickly in my life.

The following incident happened this afternoon in the town where I was born and raised. Though far-fetched, my fears are coming from a very real place.

grief

It takes a lot to bring me down. I'm one of those people who walks around with a smile on her face for nearly no reason. I smile at people, and if they don't return the favor, I judge them harshly.

Today I am low. Like mushy and gray and quiet at my very cold, shiny black core. The only way I can describe it is that I feel like someone has died. I put black clothing on; at the last second, I changed to a gray sweater. I felt ashen and dull. I still do. 

Last night the people of this country voted to elect Hillary Clinton in a popular vote. But the Electoral College voted for Donald Trump. So the latter is our President Elect. If it were simply a matter of Democrats/Republicans or liberals/conservatives, it wouldn't have so much power over me. But the hate-filled campaign, the dog-whistle rhetoric encouraged some Americans to feel comfortable saying directly to my face:  

"I'm so TIRED of minorities asking for special treatment." 

And 

"If only the gay lifestyle weren't being FORCED DOWN OUR THROATS." 

And

"Look at your parents! They worked hard and are successful, why can't people just shut up and follow the rules?" 

My gut reaction to the outcome of the election--even though I was born in the town where I currently work today--was a fear for my child having to grow up without a mother because I'd be deported for being brown. That's not founded in any facts, yet the fear is gripping. It stuns me each time I allow it to surface. 

This past month I went to try and get a short-term, tourist visa for my United States Citizen mother to return to the motherland and attend the wedding of the youngest child of her youngest sibling, essentially the last of the original family. She was told if she cannot produce her Indian passport from 1977--the one made invalid when she took an oath to be a United States citizen (to prove she had a valid work visa to come here), she couldn't go back. Or maybe she could go but then not return...the threat wasn't clear, but it was ominous. 

People are scared to wear hijab; they're telling each other that Allah will understand. They hesitate to hold the hand of a same-sex partner in public. Parents are sobbing, sleepless, fearing for the safety of their children.

And yet. 

For many, MANY people, these fears of mine are unfounded, imaginary, made up. An overreaction to not getting my way. Hate crimes don't really happen. Groups of white men on a Friday night in a town you're born in don't surround your car, look menacingly at you in 2016 and say "well they don't know how to drive." No that must not happen. BECAUSE IT DOESN'T HAPPEN TO THEM. 

I know there are myriad reasons why people voted that way. I myself watched my livelihood disintegrate, my life savings circle the drain and was forced to start again at nothing because of technological advances in society. That's a valid thing to be bitter about. But to excuse the free pass on all the hate? Unacceptable. 

Something HAS died. My sense of safety in the only world I have ever known. All I can pray for is that the people in this country put their actions where they say their hearts are and stand up for those of us who are being made to cower once again. It's been about twenty years since someone told me to go back to my own country. I suspect I will hear it again fairly soon. 

The sun may shine tomorrow, but things won't look very bright. 

history

I'm not sure what to say about how things are looking with this election.
I'm holding out hope that the people who care about this country will stand up and prevent the bad things from happening.

no matter what happens tomorrow

I don't think the people of this country will allow it to go off the rails. My parents didn't give up everything to come here and make a better life for us for it to be frittered away so easily. I have faith in the American people, no matter who is elected.

But I'm still nervous.

fruit and flowers

Jon, this anniversary (lounging on a beautiful beach) is going to be really tough to top. But even if the ones to come are full of laundry and homework, it'll be nice just to be together. I love you.

Photo by SecondPrint Productions

This was the best day of nonstop crying I have ever had. 

leather

photo by SecondPrint Productions

Happy third anniversary, Jon. That was the best day of my life...so far.

reversal

I have been working in a hospital on and off for more than a third of my life. I'm used to the noises and the fluorescent lighting and the terse whispering and the weary-looking eyes of nearly everyone there. And unfortunately I have spent way too many hours in hospital waiting rooms. But when I found myself sitting on a cart in Emergency Department Pod A trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my water broke 23 weeks too early, I went sort of numb--and all I could think about was my brother.

Is this what it felt like for him all those endless mornings at 4 a.m. when he was getting prepped for surgery? When everyone was bending over backwards to make him smile or be comfortable and nothing really worked but he pretended that it did work just to make them feel like they were helping? Did it hurt him this much every time a nurse went digging around for an IV? Did his muscles cramp up like this? Was it just as annoying to have to drag a beeping pole to the bathroom while holding the back of a gown closed? How did he lie like this for WEEKS at a time? I was only there for three days. Oh my God it must have been so much worse for him. HOW did he endure this? How did he not complain more? How did he get through this over and over, so many times? I just wanted to see his face.

But I couldn't call him. He was in St. Louis, probably sitting at his desk toggling between work and ESPN. He was looking forward to holding his niece or nephew someday. Making plans to indoctrinate the child to root for Chicago teams despite the kid having 50% Los Angeles DNA. I kept picturing his expression on the FaceTime when I told him I was pregnant (he was the first person I wanted to tell)--usually so stingy with his smiles, he was absolutely beaming. It had been a tough time and it was nice to give him something to be happy about. A few days later, I got a text picture of him holding a friend's newborn and he looked so happy. I could just picture what a tremendous uncle he will be. For years I have said my children will call him the Hindi name for Mother's Brother: "Mama," and he has threatened all kinds of bodily harm if I made good on that promise. But as soon as he heard there was going to be a Baby, I was certain he would love my kid more than anything in the world--even if she called him "dookieface." This news was absolutely going to break his heart. If I could delay that in any way, I was going to.

A few hours into my stay, Jon and I were trying to decide how to tell the doctors we weren't going to listen to their stern recommendations. I decided it was time to call my brother. I gathered my composure and picked up my phone.

"Shut up, I'm already on the road."

I don't allow myself to think about what was going through my husband's mind on the 40-min drive to the Emergency Room, and I don't want to know what that five-hour drive was like for my brother. Jon has since said that anytime he sees someone frantically overtaking people on the road, he imagines them worried and rushing to a loved one, so he just gets out of the way.

Jon never left my side for more than a few minutes throughout the entire ordeal. My mom and dad were on the other side of my hospital bed. And then my brother burst into the room. Things did not magically get better. We were still helpless and losing our child. But when I looked around and saw that my team was complete, I finally let out a breath.

Many times I have tried to explain how I feel about my brother. Maybe everyone thinks of their siblings this way, I don't know, but making sure he's ok has simply always been a life requirement. I remember tiptoeing into his room at 3 a.m. to see that he was still breathing when I was 10. He came to visit me in Champaign after he got his drivers license, and on the way home his car broke down on an unlit stretch of Interstate 57 at Sauk Trail; the sheriff lit some flares and just left him there. My then-boyfriend couldn't understand why I was pacing around in tears thinking about my brother, scared and alone, waiting for hours after the flares went out for my parents to get there. And I cried just as much as our mother did at his college graduation.

I feel like an overbearing just-as-bad-as-mom who lectures and worries and causes the biggest eyerolls imaginable. Most of the time, I probably am. However, my brother dropped everything, threw together a bag, jumped into his car and drove 282 miles just to be in the same room as me and all he said was, "How could I NOT be here? You are my sister."

People say that you don't know what it's truly like to care about another person's wellbeing until you have a child. Having had one--albeit very briefly--I agree. But I think I already had a pretty good idea.

Happy Birthday, brother.

9/9

Today is our beautiful nephew Declan's first birthday. Just 366 days ago we were hoping to get a glimpse of the guy. And for the last 365, people all over the country eagerly await each photo update and hope for the briefest chance to hold him. A curious little man, he's crawling at top speed, tasting everything that's cold and shiny, and climbing stairs. They're taking him to his first professional football game (San Diego Chargers) to celebrate. As far as I can tell, he's having a blast. I'm sure Uncle Jon approves.

Today is also the 92nd birthday of my Godmother's mom. Everyone knows her as Ma. She's sweet and vibrant, and she can hang with the multiple energetic great grandchildren she watches during the week. She made me her time-consuming family recipe, Methi Laddu (Fenugreek bars full of all kinds of nutritious stuff that's helpful for post-delivery moms) to help me get strong after Baby. She added extra sugar to cover up the bitter taste, and I ate every last one.

I realize I have been saying it lately--maybe I'm just getting old-- but it's amazing how quickly the time goes tripping along.

Here is Declan last February, finally big-ish enough for his raccoon costume.

Declan at 4 months.

White House: what's your story

Awhile back, I read about Nidhi Chanani, an whose whimsical style and desi-american flavor I absolutely love. I definitely identify with her work.

She submitted a video to the White House Initiative on Asian Americans and Pacific  Islanders' "What's Your Story" Challenge. I wholeheartedly voted for her (voting ends March 1). Her video is the center one in the top row.

Here's a link to her website and some of her illustrations. 

Happy Sunday! Let's see how much studying I get done.

the dress

I had wanted to wear my mom's wedding sari, but she was adamant that it was too old and homemade-looking (she had put it together herself with a border and some lace appliques). She wasn't budging.

The selection of white saris are either totally plain--in fact, white is generally worn to funerals--or SUPER ornately decorated. My aunt and cousin were going to try and find a sari for me in Mumbai, but they were feeling a lot of pressure to find one I'd love. At the same time, we made so many trips to Devon looking for one, too. I wanted something understated with a little embellishment and everything we were seeing was highly blinged out. I was ready to give up in frustration and started bugging my mother to just let me wear her wedding sari.

Of course, that's exactly when I saw something peeking out from under a huge pile of saris someone else had been looking at. The corner had the same color maroon-brown border of my mother's sari and the delicate gold-wire flower work was just perfect for me. I knew it was the one before I'd even tried it on.

The work on the bridesmaids' saris also has a golden floral design.

It was exactly what I'd wanted. My mom would have never chosen that pink color for herself, but she has this sweater in the same color that looks great on her; I told her that's what I'd like her to wear. We were preparing to search for it for weeks, but found her sari within 15 minutes of being in the first store. 

So many people who wanted to be at our wedding weren't able make it. My bracelets don't really match because I'm wearing one from each of my aunts (as well as my godmother and one cousin). Something Borrowed. I even got one from my dad's grandmother, but it's so fragile and tiny, I didn't want to try to get it over the bones in my hand. I was carrying it in a small crocheted bag that my nani made decades ago. Something Old.

My mother wore this ballerina brooch on her wedding day. Something Blue. My father's father had the necklace and earrings set made for me "to wear on my wedding day" a few years before he passed away.

My cousin and aunt bought this maangtika (it was supposed to be hanging lower down on my forehead but the weight of my pallu pulled it back quite a bit).

The back. You can't really see them, but I had peacock-blue shoes on.

Mfm made gorgeous bouquets for me and the bridesmaids (she got the hydrangeas fresh from her neighbor's yard, with permission of course). My Vinu Moushi (mom's younger sister) sent a few yards of handmade lace my nani had made for a slip long ago, and mfm used it to wrap the handle of my bouquet. My mom had carried the "Thinking Of You" handkerchief on her wedding day, too. I was so glad to have it with me; it was soaking wet by the end.

I didn't see it until I was getting dressed that day, but my mom had cut one of the lace appliques from her wedding dress and sewed it to the inside of my pallu--right at the spot at the top of my head. Even though the sari was Something New, I sort of got to wear a family heirloom after all.

malas

Despite the unfortunate meaning en Espanol, malas are the lei-like garlands used in India for all kinds of important occasions to celebrate winners and overall happiness. My mom's people have a tradition of using them at weddings--family members from each side welcome their new family with a beautiful garland of flowers.

Jon and I decided we didn't want to do a unity candle or sand or spices or any of that stuff, but our mothers brought the malas up at the end of the ceremony for us to put on each other before the kiss, essentially welcoming each other to our respective families. Officially.

I had planned on making them myself (shocker) on the day before the wedding by going to the florist, grabbing whatever was available and stringing it up. So the day before at the mehndi, when my godmother's 89-year-old mother said she had something for us, I was beyond touched. She and a bunch of her grandchildren had made these malas for us by hand. It's something they do in their tradition: Take strips of cotton and carefully remove some of the woven threads, making a very very soft fringe. It must have taken a very long time. I was teary.

 These are so much better than what I would have slapped together. And they'll last a long time, too.

Jon loves orchids. We definitely would have used our own orchids (we have a couple very impressive plants) if we could, but of course this is the year they're both dormant.

the mehndi II

My godmother found the fastest mehndi artist in the west to do my designs. She didn't take any breaks longer than 30 seconds, either, and we both were sitting there for a little more than four and a half hours. I had henna on the front and backs of my arms, from elbow to tips of the fingers, as well as around 75 percent of my legs and the tops of my feet. She didn't even skip the backs of my heels.

See all those tiny dots? Each one done by hand. She was really good. 

My mom has always said my most beautiful feature is my feet. I get them from my dad, who got them from his dad. I always meant to take a picture of all our feet together because they're all so creepily the same. My hands are my mom's and my nani's in the same way. I can't get that picture anymore, either.

Tradition calls for the name of the groom to be hidden somewhere in the mehndi of his bride's hand. Then the guy has to try to find his name. My mehndi artist was very clever and Jon wasn't able to find his name for more than seven minutes until I had to drop some pretty big hints. But then again, she had thrown in an extra H to make it "Johnathan" instead of Jonathan.

It's in the curve between the fingers and thumb of my right hand, and way easier to spot before she did the top of my hand.

Arms done. Shiny. They put this sugary stuff on to keep the dried mehndi from fallling off, so it would stay in contact with the skin and give a nice deep color. 

I liked the feet the best.

It was great to be able to get up and walk around after nearly five hours, trust me. But I still couldn't move too much. EB fed me a bunch of watermelon and another heaping helping of fried rice at the end of the night. People had been coming and going all day, and at the end of the night Jon left to have pre-Bachelor Party dinner with his family. My family trickled back home bit by bit until it was just my mom and I, EB and a couple of their other family members and my godmother's house, sitting around and resting after a wonderful day. There's that bit of time at the end of your party where you sit back and take in just how great it went. To me that's even better than the actual party, which I usually spend worrying about how everything is going. I was so overwhelmed by everything people were doing for me, I couldn't do anything but just absorb it. Sort of like the henna dye on my skin.

It's hard for me to believe I didn't take any pictures of the mehndi right after I washed it off, but there were still about 50 bajillion things left to do, so it's easy to think it slipped my mind. They say that the darker your mehndi comes out is an indication of how much your man loves you.

I already know how lucky I am to have Jon, but it's nice to get a little confirmation. This photo was taken the day AFTER the wedding--a full three days after the mehndi party.  And it stayed nice and dark until about a month after the wedding.

Jon had set up a tripod with his camera to take a photo every minute. My friend A.A. also took a bunch of supplemental photos with his other camera (a lot of which were in these last posts). Thanks, A.A.!

the mehndi

Two days before the wedding, after I was showered and fragrant from my Ros, we headed over to my godmother's house for the mehndi*. My mom had bought a very lovely outfit from Devon for me to wear to the event, but it was obvious this was the first mehndi in our family, because it was floorlength and would have been a huge hassle to keep up over my knees with both my hands and legs unable to move. Good thing my godmother's daughter-in-law had the perfect short and pretty kameez at the ready for me to wear with leggings. Problem solved.

My godmother and her family rounded up a ton of saris in varying shades of green and blue, big paper decorations, and they even put up a tent on their front patio by the water fountain. It was so beautiful, I was sad that the weather was chilly so we couldn't set up our stations outside. And she had a ton of food--including this fried rice my godfather makes that I can't seem to get enough of. I knew that I wouldn't be able to use my hands or even move that much, so I was inhaling as much of everything as I could before I had to take up the spot I'd be in for the next four hours.

I love plants almost as much as my godmother does. I don't know how she knew that I love gladiola (gladiolas? gladioli?). So pretty. I really wish I had taken more pictures of the decor. It must have taken a lot of work and the whole place looked wonderful.

For years when I'd go to their house, I saw loveseat-like bench that has an indoor arbor over it and thought, "Self, this would be an awesome seat for a bride and groom." Guess where Jon and I were sitting? My godmother's 89-year-old mother said a prayer for us and then we all got down to business. Personally, it means a lot to me to have her blessings, and of older people in general, mostly because aside for that one year I had with my nani when I was seven, mine have always been so very far away. And now they're all in Heaven, where I'm sure they're sending their blessings. But it's always nice to hug a grandma in real life.

My godmother hired two mehndi artists--one dedicated to do mine--to do the mehndi for most all the women. A lot of my family, friends and parents' friends came at different times throughout the day and evening. You want to let the dark green paste dry to black and let it flake off to get the best dye on your skin, and the palms have more keratin (thanks, s, for that tidbit) so the color comes out better there. But it's a huge inconvenience not to be able to use your hands for so many hours, so many of them only got a design on the back of one hand. You know, so they could drive home.

Here are some highlights of their mehndi:

Tomorrow: Jon made a time-lapse video of mine.



From wikipedia: "Mehndi is a ceremonial art form which originated in ancient India. Intricate patterns of mehndi are typically applied to brides before wedding ceremonies."

the ros II

After all the praying and the crying, we got down to the business of anointing. In the back yard.

Each person dipped their hand in the ros and put some on me with their blessings. It started out very subtly.

 

Then they busted out the raw eggs. To be fair they really weren't sure about this, but I remember how wonderful my hair was after my cousin's ros and I demanded the eggs in the hair. I had just forgotten how weird and slimy it felt. 

My cousin took the whole "preparing the bride for her husband" thing very seriously and wanted to make sure my skin was soft "all over," ha ha. If you can't tell, this took me by surprise. Mostly because the stuff had come right out of the fridge.

I think my brother-in-law (in India, your cousins are considered your sisters and brothers) had a lot of fun with this, too. He dumped what was left of the ros on my head.

Jon was busy taking photos, but he didn't totally get out of it. I must say they went really easy on the guy; this was the worst of it, by my dad.

After I showered, my hair and skin felt AMAZING throughout my wedding festivities and for about a week into my honeymoon. And it smelled good, too. My brother couldn't get off work and fly in until that evening--otherwise these photos would look a lot more like Nickelodeon.

the ros I

Not a lot of Americans know that--beyond that stupid "red dot or feather" differentiation Jay-Z made famous in "Girls, Girls, Girls"--there are a LOT of different types of Indians. As you cross the border into different states, you may as well be in another country because each has its own language, food, clothing and customs. And that's not even taking into consideration Indians who have settled in different parts of the world. You know, like the Midwestern part of the United States. 

My mom and dad are from different places in the Motherland, so each brings their own wedding customs to the table. Where my mother is from, they prepare a bride and groom for their wedding with a haldi ceremony by having family members give their blessings then put turmeric paste on their skin (supposed to condition it and make you "fairer"). Where my dad is from, they do a Ros, which is the word for the coconut milk/paste they use to do essentially do the same, but with a lot of signs of the cross. Also, coconut makes your skin soft and smooth and your hair lustrous. And it smells great, too.

From wikipedia: "The Ros anointing ceremony, conducted one or two days before a wedding, celebrates the last day of virginity of the bride and bridegroom and involves the parents' blessing of the bride and groom, who are anointed with ros, a mixture of coconut milk and coconut oil, while a cross is inscribed on the bride's forehead."

I was so thankful to have my dad's sister and her family (husband, daughter, daughter's husband and their two kids) here for the wedding. We've never had a wedding over here, let alone a Ros. Without them, we would have been totally lost. They flew in from Mumbai and Dubai, respectively, and did a lot of shopping* for the wedding. Originally, they were going to buy my wedding sari, but while I'm sure I would have loved whatever they had chosen, I found one I liked here so I let them off the hook. My cousin found complementary jewelry for the set I was to wear, she had dresses made for the three flower girls (including her own 4-year-old), and also brought a bunch of other stuff for everyone. 


My aunt brought the sado I would be wearing to the Ros, a hot-pink sari that my cousin wore to hers in 2003 (I was there, too), and my paternal grandmother wore to hers, way back in 1942. It was pretty fragile. I was honored to wear it.

It's worn a different style than what I'm used to, so I needed a lot of help. Later, they added a garland of jasmine and some other flowers to my hair. You can't see it well, but I'm also wearing a long gold necklace that my grandmother had given to my mother. It's the one thing of hers that I have. 

If you've ever seen a Bollywood movie, there's pretty much always a wedding (seems to be the main plot point--and usually the climax--because after the wedding, there really is nothing else to life, if you believe the film industry). And in almost every wedding, there is a scene where the girl's family is beside themselves with sobby sadness because traditionally the girl goes to live with her in-laws so the family is literally giving her away. This is called the bidaai, and sometimes includes sad singing. We didn't have that at the wedding, because we were very busy breaking it down. Besides, Jon and I live about six minutes away from my parents and I'm still at their house all the time. They're going to have to do much more than bless our marriage to get rid of me that easily.


But that didn't mean there was no crying. 


My parents had to give us their official blessings. I have only seen my dad in tears twice before this. It's so unnerving, I freeze, not knowing what to do. On the day of my Ros, I was pretty much paralyzed. Both of them were a soggy mess, shakily making the sign of cross in front of me and praying for long lives of happiness for both me and Jon. And when I saw them crying, I lost it too. It was a sobfest. Poor Jon, he didn't know what to do either, so he took pictures. Thank goodness for my relatives, who made a few jokes and offered them a little solidarity; they went through this too with their daughter. If they hadn't been there, I don't know what we would have done. 


I'm glad we had this opportunity to get the major sobbing out of the way before the wedding. I gave both my parents strict instructions not to cry on my wedding day. And they did amazingly well. Most of the tears that day were streaming down my face.

*One of the times my aunt and cousin were shopping for my wedding stuff in Dadar, just ONE day before the 2011 Mumbai bomb blasts. SCARY. Thank God they weren't there one day later.

our song

Thank God for email. I have such a faulty memory, which is probably why I like to document everything. Apparently, Jon and I decided "our song" was Paul Simon's "Something So Right," over one of our daily marathon emails--we would essentially be having a triple-thread instant-message-like correspondence via gmail. Those missives are hard to make sense of later, by anyone else. Within that same message (which was on April 6, 2006), we were also discussing the latest episodes of The Amazing Race and LOST, and how unhappy we were with Libby, Lori and Dave. And some fratboys, apparently. The only downside to living together is that we still have these awesome conversations, but no way of preserving them or looking back to resolve disagreements later.

So what we would dance to during our first dance as husband and wife was a no-brainer:

The lyrics are so true of both of us. Which makes it even more amazing that we were able to find love from another person so different and so far away.

There was so much to pack into the reception. I wanted as much dancing as humanly possible, but I knew that neither Jon nor his mom cared for dancing. I would have loved to have dance to "Teri Pyari Pyari Surat" and then BROKEN IT DOWN halfway through, Mando-style with my dad, to "Galyan Sankli Sonya Chi" with the moves of his people. But that would take more time, and Jon's mom hadn't yet chosen what she wanted. In the end, we decided to combine the parent/child dance to one song that nearly everybody likes--we all danced out there at the same time. It's by a band that Jon's mom, my dad, and the two of us all love:

Of course it's the Beatles. I wish there were more bands out there that appease multiple generations at once. Our kids will definitely be listening to them, too.

For kicks, there's "Teri Pyari Pyari Surat." My dad loves that song, it's my nani's all-time favorite song, from her favorite movie, Sasural, and it plays every time my father calls my cell phone. I love it because it makes me think of him.

It loosely translates to "let your lovely lovely face never attract someone's evil eye," which sounds sort of silly, but some people believe that jealousy toward a successful/beautiful person/baby will end up causing some kind of harm to that person. The lyrics are both a compliment and a protective statement. Hindi just doesn't translate sometimes.

And bonus, here's a Bollywood-ized version of the Konkani classic "Galyan Saankli."

This is totally a Bolly-sampling of the original folk song trying to mimic the oldschool village-style dancing and outfits. The main phrase, "Galyan sankli sonya chi, ee poori kona chi" roughly--and I could be wrong, my dad is sleeping--means, "that girl with the gold chain around her neck, whose daughter/girl is she?" It's a CLASSIC.

It was the right decision: Jon and Mrs. M didn't have too much on the dancefloor, while my dad and I still danced our socks off the entire night anyway. Everybody wins!