Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Personally coiffed

"Ilajna, if you're not doing anything much, do you fancy giving me a haircut?"
"Yeah, sure! That would be fun!"

Which brings me to Monday afternoon, perched atop a chair in the middle of the sun-filled living room, holding my breath. Ilajna hovered around me, hands and pockets equipped with combs, scissors and rubber bands.

"Do something wild, tousled and fun. As long as my hair is still long enough to tie up when I go biking, totally feel free to be creative with it."

These words must have come out of my mouth of their own volition, because none of my brain filtration processes would have allowed for such a degree of free license. As soon as I had said them, I felt a twang of insecurity.

Silence, for a few moments, as I pondered my folly.
Snip. Snip, snip, around my ears.

"Erm, what are you going to do with my hair?" I finally ventured.
"Hmm, don't know yet," Ilajna murmured, lips pursed in concentration as she cut off a pedantic 2 mm from the tips of a few hairs.
"Erm. When will you know?" I asked, since she was already half way through the haircut.

She laughed. "Relax," she said. "I did your hair two years ago, remember? And it was fine!"

I couldn't dispute that.
So instead I must mentally willed the stress-knots in my unwind themselves. Bit my lip nervously as she cut the hair framing my face.

"There, done." she said at last, putting her scissors down. And I bounded out of the chair to examine myself in the bedroom mirror.

And there it was, the perfect, perfect summer haircut. Tousled and messy, short but yet tie-up-able. Nothing like a roommate to add that personal touch.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Homefinding

We have entered a new phase in our lives. It's more than that. I could even venture so far as to audauciously suggest that America herself has entered into a new phase in her life. Real estate is finally affordable.

So with much kerfuffle and perplexity, Delta and I have launched on our mission to buy a house.

I always knew that home-buying would be complicated. I just didn't know how mind-consumingly, mind-bogglingly, mind-swimmingly confusing it would be.

First, we had to find a broker. We side-sweeped that step, of course, by latching ourselves on to the first broker we met (nice elderly fella with a trustable-looking face, what more could one want).

Then, we have to identify the apartments we want to see. Now, that's the fun part for sure. Floorplans, pictures, little spreadsheets comparing price-square-footage ratios. Well, for the first ten apartments anyway. And then suddenly, by your hundredth apartment, the floorplans merge into a blur of contorted black and white boxes, like some kind of surreal real estate version of tetris.

Today, we decided to get pre-qualified for a mortgage. "Delta, would you please take care of that for us?" I asked.
My forte lies in persusing floorplans. Finances will need to fall to someone else, I'm afraid. So Delta got volunteered for the task, and I sat finger-nail-bitingly by until he called me back.
"Okay, we're set, I got us the pre-qual letter."
"Really? it was that easy as that? We are pre-qualified for a mortgage that will get us the apts we want?"
"Sure, of course. What did you think would happen?!"

So apparently Delta had been less mentally ruffled than yours truly.

And now, the funnest part. This weekend, we meander aimlessly (well, in reality, it's a rather ardent stride through an ambitious list of apartments in 2 hrs) through the Upper East Side, and perhaps we find that place we can call home.

Or perhaps not, and it's back to real-estate tetris.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

A birthday good deed

It was Delta's birthday on Monday this week, and the two of us headed over to our favourite Thai restaurant for a quiet little tete a tete. As we crossed First Ave on the way to the restaurant, we noticed a bit of a kerfuffle on the road - a bus pulled over to the side, a car stopped in the middle of the road with a telltale dent by it's front headlight, a couple of arguing drivers, and a traffic cop. Typical accident scene with the exchanging of insurance papers etc - but nobody looked to be injured, and we just sighed with relief that we don't need to drive in the city.

We'd all but forgotten about this incident by the end of dinner, but when we were returning back from the restaurant, we noticed that the car involved in the accident was still there in the middle of the road. The bus and traffic cops had vanished from the scene, but an elderly lady stood by the car, presumably the driver.

"Something's got to be wrong, there's no way she should be there for so long!" Delta exclaimed, "come on, let's go over and check if she's okay."
Delta, as always, being the large-hearted helper, and me tagging along like Batman and Robin.
"Is everything okay, ma'am?" Delta asked politely as we approached the elderly lady.
"No! I just have accident, tyre flat. Look." She spoke Russian, and only a smattering of english phrases.
"Shall I change your tire for you?" Delta asked, with a whole lot of gesticulating, to communicate his point.
"You do that?! For me?! Oh thank you! thank you!" She was so grateful, and so helpless, that instantly I was at once delighted we had come.

While Delta set about the arduous task of changing the tire (with a fair share of grunting and groaning to illustrate the efforts he was putting in), I sat at the side like a rather unhelpful companion and chatted with the lady instead.

Surprisingly, given that she had just had a car accident, she seemed in high spirits. She stood by the side of the car waving an unfurled roll of kitchen towel ("like flag to warn other cars no hit us,") she explained to me, since her car was still parked in the middle of the road.
"Will you be okay?" I asked, concerned about leaving her alone for the evening.
"Oh yes, first time have accident thirteen years," she clarified. "Thirteen years! Is rare no have accident so long in New York," she said proudly.
I smiled. I was just impressed with her fortitude and spirit.
When Delta had completed the wheel change, he walked over to us proudly, dusting his hands.
"I pay you?" she asked him.
"No, of course not! We don't want your money!"
She paused, wanting to show her appreciation, but unsure how.
"Okay fine then you take this." It turned out she was an artist, and she proudly handed us postcards of the work she had done. And they were beautiful!

We said our goodbyes and headed homewards, she leaned over and gave both Delta and me long, warm hugs. I was filled with the buoyancy of genuine contentment. I couldn't pinpoint then what it was, but now that I think about it, I believe it was the feeling of being inspired. By Delta's spontaneous good will. By the elderly lady's strength of spirit. By the immediate and and spontaneous connection we had all built, in that odd little situation in the middle of the road.

Monday, May 12, 2008

An allergy war

I've been rather disconcerted, this year, to fall prey to allergy fever. I've always silently prided myself on not having pollen allergy, and being able to smile breezily through May. This year, however, was a different story.

Suddenly, my body betrayed me. Watery eyes, constant sneezing, the works. I'd wake up in the mornings and couldn't talk to anyone for the first half an hour, because I couldn't get a word in edgewise between my own sneezes. The sight of my own eyes sent mild shudders through me. I was distraught. Mortified even. Ran out and almost bought Duane Reade out of their Claritin and Zyrtec. Much to my horror, neither worked, and my symptoms continued, unabated.

Which brings me to this morning, when I found myself drumming my fingers impatiently in the Dr GingkoBiloba's office. As soon as I could get in to see him, I burst out with a litany of my bodily complaints.
"Calm yourself down," he said soothingly, and wrote me a prescription for the standard medecines he's probably been giving all his patients over the lsat two weeks. Clutching the prescription like gold dust, I made my way home.

Aided by the medical apothecaries though it be, I'm going to fight off these darned allergies if it's the last thing I do!

Biking New York

What with the mater and pater in town, I haven't had much time to jot my mental rhuminations on ye ol' cyber-pad. Hence the silence here, for more than a week. But fear not, for there's no dearth of stories to relate.

In fact, I can say with much pride that I have survived to regale you with tales of heroism about how we survived the 45-mile 5 Boro Bike Ride. You may recall, in the run up to the ride, I was regarding it with some considerable apprehension. Not without reason, I might add, given that it was some 45 miles longer than I was accustomed to riding. All the same, in a miraculous feat of tenacity, we managed to pull it off.


"We" being Delta, Gus, Jeet and I.
Gus gallantly bringing up the rear, to make sure us ladies didn't get lost in the crowd.
Delta forging ahead, creating a wake for us to ride in.
Jeet and I pedalling furiously in between, interrupted only occasionally by one of us crying out (usually me I must confess), "Wait, let's take a break, I gotta pee."

But in the end, after all, we made it. And can't wait to do it again next year, because this is, I am sure, one of those things that just quickly becomes tradition.

When I say the bike ride was a big event, I kid you not.


Despite all odds, us four muskeeters somehow made it through.




Proud finishers (check out the crowds behind us, make note we aren't last!)