Chef told me he picked out diamonds for my engagement ring yesterday. Cant wait to see it. Its one pink diamond and two white ones.

yay!

Last evening as my dad and I were walking home from the mall (where he bought me walking shoes and Snuff by Palhanuik) we got to talking about life in America and marriage. At some point I made a joke about how if I wanted to live in America I should probably marry Chef and suddenly we’re talking about marriage and he’s telling me that if I really want to live in America, perhaps I should look for potential grooms in America. Now, I’m not like all dead set against arranged marriage. I don’t think it’s uncool or horrible or too trad or whatever. I mean, when I was in America all those Americans would be round eyed and ready to be sympathetic when they’d ask me, “SO… do your parents like want you to have an arranged marriage?” Unfortunately for them, my parents don’t live up their ideal of the patriarchal Indian male dominated household where girls are objects for marriage. They were, however, given their dose of shock when I’d tell ‘em I do not think arranged marriages are made in hell. That’s a very popular notion. It’s easy for people (esp Urban Indians) to talk of arranged marriages in one tone: of forced marriages. I am against forced marriages but I know a lot of my friends who got married to the boy/girl their parents chose. They dated them for a while, figured out if they were compatible and then went ahead. Gone are the days, at least amidst urban educated folk, that boys and girls see their respective better halves only on the day of their marriage.

Anyway, I digress. My dad wanted me to look at boys and see if I liked and was compatible with any. I was like, no fucking way dude. I cannot for the life of me see myself married to some Tam Bram. Then my dad went off about how if I want to get married, I ought to get into a stable relationship like STAT so that I have enough time to consider compatibility and other issues. He said how it doesn’t matter if the dude’s Indian or not, or what religion he is or what he does for a living etc as long as I’m happy and he will be able to take care of me. Blah, right? The usual liberal parent crap. So I said, “Okay dad… but what about age?” And the smart man that he is, he caught on: “Do you want to marry (Chef)?” I was really nervous, let me tell you, my mouth was DRY but I said yeah and asked if that was okay.

TO my utter surprise, he’s absolutely cool with it and even said he’d talk to my mom! Ha ha. SHe already knows but yeah, she does need some convincing. This is a great relief to me. I was pretty certain my father was going to go a little ballistic and be really strained about it.

THe only problem from now on is that the closer we get to actually getting married, the colder my feet are going to get. I realise now that I am extremely committment phobic. I’m terrified of living in the same place for too long, with the same person, in the same house, same country, same job…. I told Chef that and I told him not to freak out if I freak out. I just need to be reminded that it don’t get better than him. At least I’m not thinking about that ‘one last fling before I get hitched’ because let’s face it- no one’s ever been able to satisfy me like him, so what’s the point in even looking? Besides, who could give up all that delicious food.

Charles de Gaulle wasn’t too bad. The French were actually awesome to me. As I was going through customs in Paris, the black Customs Man looks at me and smiles beautifully. He asks me for my passport, reads my name out and tells me I’m absolutely beautiful! It was nice of him to say that since I thought I looked and smelled like hell given that I’d already spent 20 odd hours travelling. Merci, Customs Man, merci!

I bought two bottles of red wine at the airport. One Bourdeaux and one Syrah. Both 2006 and the cheapest available. I gave the Syrah to my aunt and uncle here but it’s completely wasted on them. Nobody I know in India has a taste for wine. THe first thing my uncle asked me about the wine was if it was sweet. My heart sank. I popped the bottle yesterday because Dark Knight (my cousin) and his father came over. Neither of them liked it at all. His father wanted beer. My aunt wouldn’t drink it because she “doesn’t like wine.” Later that night, I drank about half the Bordeaux by myself in bed while reading ‘Hunted’.

Hunted is a childern’s fiction novel about a world where infertility is the norm. So much so that real kids are commodities that are rented, sold and bought. It’s about a little kid called Tristan (I think) and his Minder Deek. Deek rents Tristan out to people for an hour or more so they can, for a while, know what it feels like to have a child. It’s an interesting concept and the writing is engaging enough. I can’t wait to finish it tonight!

Chef and I have been talking regularly on the phone. I told my mother about him and we talked about the whole age difference thing. In the end she said as long as I’m happy, no one is going to stand in my way. That’s good to hear. She did tell me that my aunt in Bombay and my grandmother went to an astrologer earlier this year to look at my horoscope. They called my mother and told her that according to my horoscope I must only marry the man my family chooses for me because if I choose my own husband, the marriage is doomed to fail. My mum was pissed and she told my dad and my dad in turn yelled at my grandmother for being so ridiculous.

I don’t actually understand how in the HELL they would sell me to a proper Tam-Bram Iyer family. I mean I have tattoos, piercings; I smoke and drink; I’m not a virgin and I can’t cook or sing and speak very bad broken Tamil. I’m not exactly a ‘catch’. That and given my sketchy history of drug abuse, what self respecting Tamil boy would want me? I’m curious.

In other news: I will be gainfully employed from June 1. See other blog for scattered details.