Battle Skars

After searing my arms and the tips of my fingers for the umpteenth time, I decided that the time had come to start taking care of the chunks of rotting meat that my forearms had become. First off, I decided to let go of my rasta-esque philosophy of believing that the wounds would heal by themselves(of course they will, but must I live with tender flesh and open sores?) In addition, I purchased some high-quality Hand Creme, containing ingredients such as beeswax and almond milk, in a base of kaolin clay; that smells like marzipan...yummy. A good departure from the usual glycerin and mineral-oil based goop.

For those of you who think that I am taking this burnt-at-the-steak thing too far, here's a picture showing just one of my forearms... and the marks obtained from contact with several, but not all sorts of kitchen equipment.
The overall lack of hair has been caused by the repeated waxing effect of the gas burners. Note that the large welt in the middle is in an advanced stage of healing, which means that it does not ooze a clear fluid anymore. The rest of the marks are of the here-today, gone tomorrow type, meaning that I have burn marks over older burn marks.










Interestingly, the current configuration, looks to me like a sort of smiley face, with a rather fat chin.

Music-Rammstein - Stein Und Stein, Mann GayGen Mann

So, where you from?

At the height of the dinner rush today, amidst the flurry of pizza and artichoke dip orders popping up on my screen and the ever- emptying bread box that I had to refill, I came to the shocking realization, that I was surrounded by white people.

sure, there was the odd Hispanic person here and there, but overall, there was a huge concentration of white folk around me. For some strange reason, on this particular day, not any other day, but this day only, I temporarily became a xenophobe.

I have been living and interacting(though in an extremely limited manner) with Americans, mostly white Americans for quite a while now. The task of communicating with a person form across a counter is quite easily accomplished. I'm perfectly at ease when when I inform a curious fellow where I come from, and he respond, in all seriousness, 'oh, man, you got all those taleban guys holed up over there, don'tcha?'

I'm also rather collected when someone takes me for a Mexican or Puerto Rican, or basically a person of Hispanic background. I do also end up looking like a complete moron, when someone gives me a rapid-fire monologue in Spanish. Of course, in the end, the joke is on them, as I calmly reply, 'Ne habla Espanol', or for more effect, ' I'm sorry, but I don't speak Spanish'

Things get a bit off-course when I meet a person with some Original American ancestry. If I simply describe myself as "Indian"; I am presented with a full genetic roadmap of that person's lineage, which can go on for a while, I avoid cutting in as the stories are usually interesting; but as soon as he or she finish and ask me for the history of my own ancestors, I respond with a polite, 'Ahem, I think you misunderstood me'. This, of course, leads to some embarrassment, but I come out of it without a blemish.

Evangelists, once they discern that I am not hispanic, always assume me to be a pagan Hindu, and ask several questions about what my religion is. I always end up sending them into a muddle of various religious ideals, citing examples from Islam, Sikhism, Buddhism, Sufi and Bhakti mysticism and others. At a loss for words, they refer to the good book, and read out a passage someone wrote in Constantinople, and re-wrote in England, imploring me to embrace Jesus, and so on, casting aside my alleged theological beliefs, and get a guaranteed reservation to heaven and such. I love to mess with these guys.

Taxi drivers always seem to have an inclination to heartily discuss weighty matters such as politics or international terrorism with me, and love to hear my opinion of North Korea's nuclear program, Iran's necktie-hating president, and so on. If there is an excess of anything here, it has to be Public opinion. Everybody has a stand on some issue or the other, regardless of what knowledge they may or may not have of the matter. This phenomena, although great in its own way, is like static on the radio waves. Makes it hard to separate the wheat from the chaff.

I am yet to encounter an overtly hostile person out here, and thankfully, most of the jeers and taunts come from individuals whom I will probably never run into again, such as inebriated youngsters in the dad's BMW 6-series convertible out for a ride, or people in unkempt clothes and battered pick-up trucks, Rednecks, I believe, is the term.