I spent at least one semester in college working as a waitress at an Indian Restaurant. It was across the street from our apartment, The Peach Pit. The proprietor's name was (is) Pradeep and he was a complete nut. What I remember specifically about Pradeep:
He was a super smart guy.
He and his wife just didn't get along.
He was bad at owning a restaurant.
Pradeep didn't last too long in the business; his heart wasn't really into it. He was a good cook but spent most of the time in the kitchen talking (about his wife that he couldn't stand) or out in the restaurant talking to customers.
God forbid you didn't finish your food - he would think you didn't like it and send you another dish, and another dish until you were nearly ill from eating so much.
I celebrated my 21st birthday at Pradeep's restaurant, all of my friends came and we all ate like kings and queens.
He had two little children; I still have their little baby pictures somewhere. We completely lost touch until recently when we became Facebook friends! I just saw his son has graduated from Berkeley.
I wasn't a particularly good waitress, by the way.
Morals of this story: 1) Time flies, I guess, because I can't believe his tiny kid has graduated college. 2) Here's another dope story of an immigrant in the United States making dreams come true. 3) I had a lot of random jobs in college.
I was getting my nails done the other day and chit chatting with the nail lady. She was Indian so we talked about that for a bit; I told her where my dad was from and she knew all about it. It's a pretty small place so I was surprised she knew it. She said I lived there for 46 years! I was surprised because she looked about my age (40ish). I asked her how long she had been living here and she said just a year!
How bout that?
I said did you do nails in India? She said she has a bunch of salons in New Delhi.
She had sent her two daughters (ages 24 and 22) out a few years earlier so the eldest could go to SCI-arc, this crazy architectural school here in DTLA. She also brought with her her smallest son, who is 12.
I was of course curious (read: nosy) about the dad, but didn't ask.
Anyways I asked her if she liked it (she's getting used to it) but she's here to support her daughters. She said they don't have a dad, so she has to do what she can. She said, "he used to beat me so bad. In the face, everywhere. He beat me all the time."
She was separated from him in the courts, she said. No small feat, I imagine in India. She left him when her youngest boy was 4 years old because she was afraid he would turn out like his dad.
She is still married to him, though. "He'll never divorce me, I'm still his property," she said.
Anyways, she just did my nails and said she knows its going to work out.
If you saw this woman, you'd have no idea what her story was. Just another immigrant in America doing what they can do to get by.
Anyways, today is "A Day Without Immigrants" and a lot of people aren't going to work. I told the nanny she didn't have to come but was glad she did.
I have a lot of favorite immigrants (here's looking at you DAD) but I can tell you that my life wouldn't function without them.
Well, this was a new sensation this morning. Being pelted
with little tiny ice cubes on my way to work. Makes the best sound on the trash
bags as you walk by them, but certainly doesnt feel great on the back of your
What are your plans for today? Mine are to make full
indian dinner and then watch LOST. Maybe Babe and I will toast with a glass of
wine, before he has to go play Volleyball.
Funny responses from the people who used to comment on my blog all the time! Have a look here.
For tonight, we have valentimes cards for the girls and I got babe fancy donuts from Birdies Downtown which makes I think the best donuts I've had in southern California?