Indian Malling

Yesterday started some sort of Indian holiday, so N wanted to go to the celebration. It was held in the largest city of this state, about an hour south of us. She asked me to drive, because, well... I have a car and a US license. We joined her friend, C, and his roommates as well as another girl, S, who N thought about living with.

We went to the mall, first, which did not exactly put me in a party mood. I'd been looking forward to going window shopping for a while. I'm not ashamed to admit that I like pretty clothes. I like looking, and imagining the day when I can go to work in something other than jeans and t-shirts. I spent most of the mall trip babysitting a small, innocient looking Indian girl in an incorrectly tied dress. ((I was the one who figured out how to pin the scarf properly)). I kept having to steer her toward the XS section of the store, as she headed toward the M, L and XL sections. It was NOT relaxing.

The Indian festival was mostly very nice. The savory food was GOOD! The curries and bread were a little bit sweet and very flavorful. They weren't too spicy, either. I liked watching the dancing. People would circle around a central alter in what looked like a line dance or a version of "follow the leader". I even got pulled into the circle for a little while and danced. Toward the end of the evening, there were prayers which NO ONE explained to me! They just kept telling me that if I participated, it wasn't like I was converting or anything. I'm 22. I'm confirmed Catholic. I'm pretty sure I know what religion I am, and how to change it. But, when I'm in someone else's church, I want to know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it before I engage in the activity. Otherwise, I feel like an ass.

Fig 1.The little girl in pink and purple followed her sister the entire night. It was so much fun to watch her!

Fig 2. The long line of dancers, including N.

Fig. 3 I make an ass of myself. I'm not a very good dancer.

I was tired as we drove home. Not so tired that I couldn't drive, just tired enough that I couldn't deal with N, her chattering, and her need for grapes. We argued a little about AD's impending visit. Would she have to be somewhere other than the apartment on Thursday or could she just stay in her room? I don't know. I feel guilty about sexiling her, but I'm the one who pays the rent on time (and then I want for weeks until she finally figures out she has to pay, too). I'm the one who does the bulk of the cleaning. I'm also the one who works most of the hours. Some days, I wish I lived alone. Some days, I wish my roommate had more friends than just me. Some days, I wish there was an art museum or public gardens in this blasted town where I could be out of the house and in public, but still be contemplative and alone while looking at beautiful things.