Me versus Aunty Jee = Simren

One of the weddings I attended was of a distant relative.  It was in Bolton and the weather was miserable.  As you may well have read on my blog on earlier posts that I try my upmost to stay away from Asian social gatherings – and I have my reasons.

However, I had a conversation with an Aunty Jee (who is not related, but out of respect it is common to call them Aunty) as follows:

Aunty Jee:  “Puthar (Son), it’s been a long time, where you been hiding?”

Me:  “Hello Aunty Jee, Hiding, No Aunty – I’ve been extremely busy with work and stuff – you know how it is with us young guns”  I’m thinking this will be a quick Hi and Bye.

Aunty Jee:  “Yes, yes, yes, in our days when we were young, we didn’t have all this technology and easy things, like bacebook (she meant facebook) or mobiles bhones (she meant mobile phones) we had to do everything the hard way”

Me:  “I understand Aunty Jee, but…”

Anuty Jee: “You see, today you young generation have ebery (every) thing on plate.  Cars, flats, houses and even ristay (marriage proposals)”

Me: “But..”

Aunty Jee:  “What But but but, look at your 3 piece suit – I bet you have hundreds of these suits but in our time we only had two Sarees.  One in the wash and one we were wearing.  I tell you, there is no value in anything any more”

Me: “But…”

Aunty Jee:  “What but, but.  Tell me have you done shady (married) yet?”

Me:  “No”

Autny Jee:  “What do you mean NO, bloody what’s the problem”

Me:  “Aunty Jee, there is no problem.  You daughter doesn’t answer my phone calls – what can I do”

Pause the conversation.  OK this was meant to be a joke, we call it banter and a sarcastic remark, and oh boy did I ask for it or what.  To be honest, I didn’t even know she had any daughters or at least I can’t recall meeting any recently.  Continue conversation:

Aunty Jee:  “Which daughter, is it Simren.  I tell you Simren is always on Bacebook (facebook) all the time.  She tell Choti (I assume Choti is the younger daughter) she likes you, and Choti tells me – I know, so why she not answer your call – I bloody phix (fix) her.  Oi Simren, Ithay Ahh (Oi Simren come here)” By this point, Anunty Jee was shouting out loud across other people who were seated, “ithay ahh and tell me why you not answer this boys bhone (phone)?”

Me:  “Aunty I was joking, listen Aunty I don’t even know your daughter – I was kidding”

Aunty Jee:  “Puthar it’s OK.  I know Simren, she bloody in her room all day and always in bacebook (facebook).  She been home from Univerbasty (University) for two bloody weeks and I no seen her, she always in labtop (laptop) or listen to busic (music).  I shout but she no bloody hear me”

Pause the conversation.  At this point, I see her daughter called Simren walk up to join us.  I was impressed by Simren’s eloquent walk, and her look (white saree and silver jewellery, with some red touch in it, and did I tell you – white is one of my favourite colours?).  Her look was simply (hardly any cosmetics) but yet pretty and attractive.  I could tell she has natural long hair, but for this occasion she had curled them slightly and she looked beautiful.     I now recognised who Simren is – and the last time I saw her we were much younger at it must have been at least 10 years ago or more.  I felt nervous and I felt my tie get tighter and tighter as Simren approached us.  So as Simren joins us.  Continue Conversation:

Simren:  “Yes Mom, what” with a nice gentle smile towards me.

Aunty Jee:  “Yes mom di batchi (daughter of), ithay ahh.  Why you no take this boy phone call?”

Me:  “Aunty Jee, please listen..”

Aunty Jee:  “Puthar don’t burry (worry), I talk to her”

Simren:  “Mon, what are you talking about, who is he and why would he call me?”  I could see total confusion in Simren’s face.  She too didn’t recognise me and I could feel my collars irritate with the heat expressed by my increasing nervousness.

Aunty Jee:  “What, you don’t know him, hey listen don’t go far with me.  I tell you at home bloody get off bacebook (facebook) and interact with family so you see the real world.  I tell you now and you bloody listen, when this boy call you, you answer his phone – OK”

Simren:  “Mom, are you feeling OK, who is he, and I’m totally confused?”

Aunty Jee:  “Chup karr (Shut up), don’t know who he is.  I don’t want no excuse.”

At this point, Simren is giving me the most serious looks I have ever had in my life.  Having said that Simren is actually pretty and attractive.  I try my best to avoid eye to eye contact with her during the 3-some conversation.  But Aunty Jee, has taken this joke to the next level and I felt embarrassed, ashamed and numb.

Aunty Jee continues:  “Tu Sadah Puthar hai (your our son) and you welcome to our home anytime.  You know where we live now?”

Me:  “Aunty Jee, erm No, I think you lived in South Pudsey right”

Aunty Jee:  “oh no puthar (laughs) that was a long time ago.  We now moved to other end of Pudsey and we have a much bigger house now – you will like.  Simren – give this boy our address now.  Your mom always complains you not at home and is trouble, but she is wrong – you are a good son I will tell her”

Simren:  “Right, give me your number so I can text you our address” Still giving me those serious looks and with a fake smile.  She managed to frown and produce a fake smile at the same time – which was sort of cute but I never felt so nervous in my life.

Me:  “my number is XXXXX XXXXXX, (and at this point the Aunty Jee reaches up for my cheeks, pulls down my face towards her and gives me a sloppy fat kiss on my cheek and walks away), Simren, Serious it was meant to be a joke.  You mom blew it out of proportion”.

Simren:  “How dare you tell a lie?  I am not impressed.  You embarrassed me and this is the last thing I want.  I’ll deal with you later.  Thanks for your number and I’ll text you the address later.  Your reputation speaks for itself and you know what – you will never change” With a punch to my arm she walked away with an angry look (in fact she looked cute).

I thought this was it but then Simren stopped, turned around and said “If you even think about coming over to your house, I’ll make sure you walk away carrying your legs”, she smiled again and walked away.

Dam, Simren from cute turned to hot.  I felt energetic and safe that I got away with it – well sort of.

Around 10 minutes later, I got a text from Simren with the address and a nice little message saying “Don’t even think about it”.

Boy oh Boy, have I been challenged or what.  My reply to her was this

To be continued… but the video somewhat captures the mood soon after:

Phir Mohabbat Karne Chala Hai’ [Official video song] ‘Murder 2′ Ft. ‘Emraan Hashmi’

The Ghobi, The Aloo and The Masala

The Ghobi, The Aloo and the Masala – By The British Asian Blog

As a British Asian, born bred and living in the UK – I thought Asian culture (and all that comes with it) would have stayed in (South) Asia – and living in the UK as a British Asian (or an Asian living anywhere outside of Asia) I also thought I would be shielded from Asian Culture giving exception to some culture practices.  The very least I imagine(d) the strength of British Culture (or what’s left of it) would have hit Asian Culture for a six over the stadium, across the car park and right into the river thames.

But instead what we have is a fusion between the two cultures which in return has created a MONSTER never seen before.

Disclaimer:  Before I continue, in my ‘About’ page I expressed my wish to keep my identity hidden.  I have a really good reason for this – which is not to be assassinated by the Ghobi’s, the Aloo’s or the Masala’s.  I will explain further what these are.  In advance I want to apologise to those Aunties and Uncles who I will deliberately (and with pleasure) make a mockery of.

In life we categorise people we engaged with, whether they are family or friends, colleagues or just strangers we meet daily – they all fit into a category.  Much the same way – I have devised a set of categories for Aunties and Uncles who in fact are not all blood related but out of respect award them the title of either Aunty Jee or Uncle Jee.

On Saturday – I was dragged along to a barbecue.  Here I expect(ed) people to be chilled and relaxed, in summer clothing holding drinks.   Breathing air filled with laughter, jokes, reunions and grilled chicken and burgers.  But boy was I wrong or what and did I mention this was an ‘Asian’ barbecue?

For years now – I have dodged going to any type of friends and family get together – whether it’s a wedding of someone who I don’t know (but yet my family were unfortunate to receive a glittered wedding invitation – ripe with misspelled words, colour coded in maroon and red, displaying footer “Raj Store and clothing world” printed and imported directly from India ), some engagement party or a birthday.  All such events mixed with Asian culture are like having to sit a 3 hour long exam at University for a module you hate and for which you have barely revised.  On Saturday, my luck ran out and along with family I was forced to attend a barbecue at an Aunty Jee’s house – which as a matter of fact is not even blood related but once was just a neighbour.

When we got there, the barbecue was latterly size of a wedding, decorated with glitter and even had a photographer snapping away .  I swear I thought I’d walked into a wedding reception.  I guess we were invited to attend the wedding of the Chicken Tikka with the Meat Seekh Kebab.  Everyone we had ever known was there and arriving.  All the Uncles were in three piece suits (either light grey or cream with worn out shoes) and all Aunties in their wedding outfits – simply a walking Christmas tree ready to be plugged in.

Some of these Aunties, Uncles, and their siblings hadn’t seen me for years, and now I had grown several inches taller, got a hair style and a good dress sense – for them I am still a kid.

It is here where you find Aunties and Uncles who are either a Ghobi, a Aloo or a Masala – allow me to enlighten you with more description:

The Ghobi

The Ghobi are those Aunties who simply refuse to accept that I am no longer a toddler.  Pinching my bum in public when my back is turned is seriously embarrassing.  Scanning me up and down then giggling in groups of no less than 3 is seriously not cool but worrying.  No matter how much I try telling them “I am not a kid any more” these Ghobi Aunties will treat me like one.  Stroking and messing up my hair style, pulling my cheeks till they turn red and slopping all over me in groups is seriously cramping my style.  These Ghobi Aunties are hell bent on introducing me to their daughters (or vice versa) or nieces in the hope of producing more babies for them to give the same treatment to.  These Ghobi’s simply do not understood the concept of Data Protection and any girl (who is of approx my age) they come across without fail my name and number is passed to them – accompanied by stories of my baby days.  Other than food they embarrass the younger generation by openly talking about or question their sexuality.  But in reality these Ghobi Aunties are simply harmless and always on the high and buzzing – they look after you and wish you well in all stages.  They genuinely have loads of respect for people and have a very good memory.

Here is an example of two Aunty Jee’s embarrassing the younger generation, an example if you rather of what happens at Asian events:

The Aloo

This then brings me nicely on to the Aloo Uncles and Aunties – These are those Uncles and Aunties who simply think this world is not up to their standard.  Their corner shop is just as big as Asda and try promoting the cheep cost of their tomatoes and onions – they are always cheaper than anyone else.  They have this weird understanding that their sons and daughters are super heroes who wear their under pants underneath their pants and Hollywood got it wrong in Superman.  The degrees their sons or daughters are doing have never been attempted by mankind.  It’s either a degree to become a Dacterr (Doctor), Ennginear (Engineering) or a degree in bijinus (Business) that matter and the rest is simply rubbish and waste of time.  Bless them if only they really knew what their sons and daughters were really upto they’d go into hibernation for the rest of the century.

Despite my best attempts to explain “Aunty Jee – I have got two degrees, and now I am working full time in the healthcare profession and also doing my post-doctrine PhD research at University part time” their response is “Beta (Son) – PhD what nonsense is this, what is PhD – do a degree like my son/daughter and become big” – only if they knew that a PhD is only possible after getting a first in your degree (well in my case in two degrees).  These Aloo’s have never heard of a PhD research and neither has anyone in their families got a doctrine – for them a degree is the highest point of the education pyramid – the rest is “what rubbish”.  No matter how many facts I give them – I am always wrong and they are always Right.  Take a look at the video below to get a little idea of what I mean:

The Masala

And finally the Masala – these are those Aunties and Uncles who simply refuse to accept people have their own lives, live and pay their own way.  These Masala category enjoy rumours and spend hours and hours bringing back old stories, and exaggerating new ones.  They like to point fingers at others but the reality is that their own (personal/family) issues are worse than anyone else’s.  They have no control of their own kids or their future and hence enjoy ripping to shreds other families.  They continuously brag about their children all the time.  One son is the original person who created the iPhone, the other son has opened a new business and Bill Gates has applied for the receptionist position and their daughter is the Queen’s best friend and chat’s to her endlessly every evening without fail.  They are always comparing themselves to other families, trying to make themselves look more advance, posh and wealthier in every way possible.  The truth is these Masala’s are simply in debt to their eyeballs, they ration their food between them at home but when it comes to these events they are first to hang about the food area, they drive an estate Volvo which is about 300 year old and portray the image that no other car is more reliable then the one they have – but the reality is they simply can’t afford to buy a slightly better one.  Their children disrespect them and never ask how they are or about their well-being – but for the world everyone else’s sons and daughters are really bad but theirs are angels. These Masala’s are usually seen in events arguing with their other half, or shouting down at their siblings and at the same time forcing a smiling – pretending everything is just PERFECT.  Below is an example of how the Masala try to be something they’re not:

These events are simply a cooking pot, slowly stewing away with the Ghobi, Aloo and Masala, to produce a Monster Dish.  Each one depends on the other, and if one is missing the dish is never complete.

Truth be told – I don’t think this Monster dish will ever go away.  One of the most side splitting conversations I have had recently was with a Aloo Aunty about her new iPhone.  She was convinced the inventor was Indian.  When I asked what gave her that impression – she said the “i” in front of the Phone really stood for India.  In her world the iPhone was simply indiaPhone.  If you think I am kidding then have a look at the example below:

If you are reading this post at work, home or while your travelling, lets grab the nearest glass, cup or anything that looks like one and raise a toast to the Ghobi’s, Aloo’s and Masala’s – for giving us such a Monster Dish – Cheers.

Next time you go to a Asian event, see if you can spot who is a Ghobi, a Aloo or a Masala.