dudemanflab's Diaryland Diary

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Bolly-rlsbad

Since May my life has been like a Salman Rushdie novel. Since September, like a Jhumpa Lahiri story.

First I met Supreet, a native of Bombay, a Sikh, who moved to C-bad two years ago. He's met Bev in astronomy and is taking Physics with Mr. D'mura, so he knows two decent teachers. The conversations we have circle around Sikhism, Indian literature, Physics problems, my poor attempts at Indian food, and his strong insistence I take him for a steak at the Elks.

He is one cool dude, and today I went to his house! He gave me red chicken curry (the sauce was the texture of spaghetti sauce) and a tortilla-like bread (not naan) and we both were laughing hearily at his step dad's wit--
Me "So I hear you work at WIPP?"
Him "You told him Surpreet? No, I am a stand-up comedian. What am I saying? I am a sit-down comedian. We are better."
The first thing the man said to me was, "What's this? Long hair? You need a turban?"

Sikhs never cut their hair.

The second little-India encounter I've had was meeting an non-English speaking student at CHS.

"Tell me his name." Surpreet said, "India is many parts and many dialects. Tell me his name, and I can tell you what part of the country is from, what language he speaks, and who is ancestors are."

"That's magic, Surpreetji"

"Names say alot in India" he said.

The next day I found out his name was Hirsch Patel--"Oh. He's from Gujarat." Supreet tells me over the phone, "yeah, its on the eastern side of the country, north of Mumbai"

I type "Map of India" on my keyboard. "Hombre, I think he lives on the western side."

"No its the east." (This sounds like a classical dualism taking place).

"Are you sure? Think America. California is in the west."

...

"Oh you're right. Its the west. They speak Gujarati there, but I could probably talk to him in Hindi."

"And his ancestors?"

"You can't expect me to know everything..."

I talked to Hirsch sometime the next day outside of Mr. Gates classroom, "You are from Gujarat?"
"Yes, yes."
"I have a friend, from Mumbai, who said he could tutor you with your schoolwork."
"Yes."
"He speaks Hindi"
"Yes."
"Tutoring is help."
"yes."
"Do you know what help is?"
"Yes, yes."
"I'll get you his number."
"Pive-seven-Pive," he said.
"What? Oh your number."
"yes. Pive-seven-pive. three-giro-two..."

That, word for word, was my first meeting with Hirsch

Last night I spent several hours making Tandoori chicken, turmeric rice with peas, and lentils. Jhumpa would have loved to see me fret. Surpreet couldn't come for class, but I was somewhat relieved. When my parents and I ate the chicken it neared the greatness of an underspiced fajita, which, using the leftovers, is what my parents ate tonight.

(I let Surpreet smell a bit from lunch. "Phew! Too much ginger, man. You make ginger-itas?")

After dinner, I set to Albertsons to buy ingredients (tomato paste, ginger) for curry. My head says curry will make any food more authentically Indian. I turn the corner to see...

Hirsch Patel with his family. I say hello. I meet his uncle, his younger cousin ("Perfect English," the man says, "he grow in big city. Gandhinagar- the capital of Gujarat. Hirsch. He's from the country"), and his smiling sister.

"What is your name?" I ask.
"Boohmi."
"Boohmi?"
"Yes," the uncle says touching her shoulder, "It means land."

("Yeah, mother land," Supreet says tonight, "Its somewhat patriotic.")

So, now that I've met Hirsch's family at Albertsons, visited with Supreet's lively step-father, taken a stab at Tandoori chicken, and suffused my mind with previous - next