How NOT To Do the Coronavirus Self-Quarantine

Welcome to the Coronavirus Pandemic of 2020. Most of our cities, places of work and worship, and public areas are closed. We are constantly being blasted with messages to self-quarantine, aka Just. Stay. Home. How do we respond?

1. Pick up your phone the moment you wake up. Spend all day obsessively scrolling through every news article, Whatsapp forward, social media post about COVID-19, and forward them to everyone you know. If you know everything that's happening, moment by moment, you will feel more in control! Right?

2. Spend all day wallowing in indiscipline. Binge-watch another TV series on Netflix. Forget about all your Lenten commitments and fasts. It's a worldwide state of emergency, you are excused from being a productive, or fruitful member of society. Holiness is for normal days, not such strange ones as the ones we live in. God will understand.

3. Get mad at the bishops for suspending public Masses. They obviously don't care about the state of our souls. If I were in their place, I would make better decisions. Somebody elect me Pope! I'll show those cowards how to take care of a 1.2 billion member Church during a worldwide pandemic.

4. Wallow in self-pity. What an unfair twist of events! I had so many plans for the next few weeks that are cancelled or postponed. This was not how my life was supposed to go! Yet here I am stuck in my home with the Internet and food and water and too much free time to know what to do with. How unlucky I am!*

5. Give full reign to panic and fear. Doomsday is here! The end of the world is nigh. Never before has the world been in lockdown! I was right - everything really IS terrible and bad and scary and hopeless! Even if the world doesn't end, a global recession is coming! Unemployment and poverty and homelessness is going to increase! Is God REALLY in control? Doesn't look like it.

6. Go into conspiracy or blame or extreme religious theory mode. This whole coronavirus thing is a hoax created by the sellers of face masks and sanitizers to make a profit. Or it is a punishment by God for our irreligious behaviour. He's angry so He's unleashing plagues like in the Old Testament. But the blood of the lamb is the only vaccine I need! My family and I are safe, nothing will happen to us because we trust in God (unlike those sinners out there who have been infected). If only the world will repent, the coronavirus will end.

7. Ignore this whole coronavirus nonsense and party on. Unexpected holidays? Perfect time to get the gang together, go on a family outing, get some shopping done, visit some old friends, hit the bars. People are just exaggerating the danger. I'm going to be fine. They can't really expect me to stay at home for weeks on end, can they? That's probably fake news.

8. Go into selfish survivor mode. Stockpiling is the only sensible thing to do! There's a pandemic, I'm sure that basic necessities are going to somehow disappear any moment now. BUY ALL THE STUFF! Who cares about the rest of the world? It's each man for himself!

9. Go into fallacious hyper-spiritual blind faith mode. I am a Christian, and I refuse to live in fear! So I will go about my daily life as normal trusting that God will keep me safe. There is no way that going to MASS could be dangerous to anyone. Anyway, which is more important - the body or the soul? Isn't God more powerful than a mere virus? If I really believe that, there is no need to self-quarantine.

Which of these are you struggling with? Which ones have you seen other people doing, and are driving you crazy?

*I assume the people REALLY struggling are not here reading my blog post. 

Coming Soon: How To Be Holy and Happy During the Coronavirus Quarantine

Adventures in Panchgani

Last week my husband and I spent a couple of days in Panchgani, my favourite holiday spot a few hours away from the big cities. It was a special trip with just the two of us as a birthday treat for me – yes, I’m 34! Though a quiet, serene spot in the lap of nature (I sound like a resort commercial), we did not miss out on our share of adventures.

The Prophesying Wife 

I have been known to sleep-talk in the past. I thought I was mostly over it, until our first night in the Panchgani cottage. We had just finished watching a season of Dr. Who, so I was dreaming about saving the universe. In my sleep, I shouted, “Don’t be afraid!”

My husband woke up from a dream where he was worried about the future. “What did you say?”

“Don’t be afraid!”

What I meant to say after that was, “We have found enough traces of human DNA in the TARDIS to reboot the universe,” but apparently that was too complicated for my sleep-addled brain to enunciate. I did half-wake up and realized I was sleep-talking, so then I also tried to say, “That’s good advice no matter the occasion,” but according to my husband, I didn’t actually say those words aloud either.

Anyway, isn’t he privileged to have a wife who gives him solid biblical advice to respond to his nightmares in the middle of the night?

The Drunk Local 

As we walked home from town one evening, we saw an obviously drunk old man weaving his way down the road. The mountain roads were narrow, and with vehicles speeding along them, so we were a little alarmed. “Jesus, please keep this man safe,” said my husband aloud. The next moment a young man on a bike stopped by the drunk man. “Thank you, Jesus, that was quick.”

My relief dissipated in a moment as the old man got on to the back of the bike, and promptly fell off as the bike started moving. The younger man couldn’t have been a relative because he seemed amused. “How much have you drunk?” he said to the man in Marathi. My husband starting crossing the road to help them, and called out in Marathi, “Hey grandfather, hold on tight.” He got on again, clutched the rider tight, and they rode off as I prayed, and my husband’s concern turned to uncontrollable chuckles at the comic sight. I guess the town drunk is funny to everyone else, but probably not to his family.

The Angry Pregnant Lady 

Just next to the cottage where we were staying is a campsite run by my mum’s cousin. We happened to be there at a time when a big group of young people were there for a camp. We passed them playing team building games in a field.

The first afternoon I was exhausted, and fell asleep in the bedroom with the curtains on the big glass windows open. My sleep was deep, but somehow loud voices intruded. Deep in my subconscious I realized someone was intruding, but I couldn’t wake myself up to deal with it. Instead I dreamed that we were sharing the house with a honeymooning couple with all their friends and family dropping in to visit.

In my dream, I kept getting more and more outraged as they overstepped boundaries, used our private kitchen, and talked REALLY loudly and partied in the veranda. I woke up to realize there were really three young people who were not just outside the house talking, but had actually taken over a table in the veranda and were working on a poster for their camp, while chatting away… EVEN THOUGH THEY HAD SEEN ME SLEEPING IN THE BEDROOM.

I’m not typically an angry kind of person, but the righteous anger of my dream took hold of me, and I stalked out and informed them that they were in a private area and that they needed to stay in the campsite area. I’m polite even when I’m angry, but I think the message got across and they soon left. I was fuming! Was it the pregnancy hormones? Oh yes, *I* was the angry pregnant lady. I feel like I would have been even more impressively scary if I had been visibly and heavily pregnant while telling them off.

 A little while later, I heard someone announcing to the kids in the next field, “Please don’t make a noise, there are people staying in the house and they will shout at you.” You bet they will! Grr. In spite of that, a guy and a girl showed up that evening taking selfies in front of the house and seemed surprised when I asked them to take their stuff (that they had deposited again in our veranda) and leave. “Just one more picture.” Some people have no concept of boundaries.

Related Stories 

The Tale of a City Girl in Nature

The Delicate Touches of Love

Twenty Secret Tests to Give Your Boyfriend

"Young Love"by drewleavy is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

So you're dating, but you're not sure whether this guy is husband material? Fear not, there is a way to find out what he's really made of. Spend the rest of your relationship laying secret tests for him to decide whether to move to the next level.*

1. The Judgy McJudgy Test: Tell him your worst sins and watch for the telltale silence and withdrawal.

2. The Slob Test: Leave a dirty dish in his sink and see how long it lies there.

3. The One-upmanship Test: Mention your past achievements and see if he interrupts to insert his own.

4. The Perfectionist Test: Sing a love song to him really loud and off-tune to see if he’s tactful and kind enough not to stop you immediately or to stick his fingers in his ears.

5. The Handkerchief Test: Break into tears or better yet, get a heavy cold to find out if he’s a true gentleman who carries clean handkerchiefs with him to offer those in need.

6. The Patience Test: Make him wait while you change your outfit five times while telling him 'Just two more minutes' multiple times.

7. The Chauvinist Test: Ask him to make you a sandwich and check if he seems surprised or outraged.

8. The Shallow Test: Never wear make-up to find out if he thinks you're beautiful just the way you are.

9. The Phone Test: Hide his phone for a few hours to see if he is addicted.

10. The Fatherhood Test: Thrust a crying baby into his arms unexpectedly to see if he’ll be an amazing father.

11. The Fortune Hunter Test: Tell him you won the lottery and you haven't made a will. Check how fast he proposes.

12. The Gullible Test: Tell him you gave it all away to the first person who asked. If he believes you, either he doesn't know you very well, or you're a saint. Oh wait, saints don't lie about lotteries.

13. The Temper Test: Trip a server at a restaurant so that he/she drops food all over his favourite shirt to see if he has a bad temper.

14. The Anti-Science Test: Casually point out your baby vaccination marks on your shoulder to find out if he is an anti-vaxxer.

15. The Conspiracy Theorist Test: Mention that you’d like to ‘travel around the world’ to check if he’s secretly a flat-earth conspiracy theorist.

16. The Vampire Test: Cook him a great Italian meal, add a lot of garlic to everything and sprinkle holy water in his drink. Also gift him a crucifix and see if he recoils.

17. The Mass Murderer Test: Search his room for a bag of mementos or newspaper clippings to rule out the possibility of him being a serial killer.

18. The James Bond Test: Take apart his watch to find out if it's really a high-tech communication system he uses to facilitate his double life as a secret agent with a license to kill.

19. The Superman Test: Look at him with and without glasses to ensure he is not a secret superhero in disguise.

20. The Survivor Test: Steal his wallet, cards, keys and vehicle and leave him stranded in the middle of nowhere to see if he knows how to survive in the wild (essential husband and father skills).

*Are you crazy? What kind of manipulative person are you anyhow? Stop laying traps. Instead be honest and communicate. Although there's nothing wrong with being observant, while keeping in mind that nobody is perfect. Also, if you think this is funny, imagine how you'd fare if someone gave YOU these tests. Yeah, not so cocky now, are you, Ms. Impatient Vampire Slob?

Click on this link for more lighthearted posts from the past seven years.

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Thoughts of a Typical Catholic at Sunday Mass aka Sixty Minutes of Daydreaming

(Enter church) Oh no, there’s someone in my usual pew! How annoying, don’t they know that’s where WE usually sit? People nowadays.

Who ARE all these people? So many new people in the parish. Not like the old days when we used to know everyone. Where is Hubby going now? He knows I don’t like to sit under the fan. Okay this works. Why won’t that lady scoot in? Maybe if I nudge her with my hip. Done.

(Briefly kneel) Thank God I got here on time and got place to sit. Hubby is always ironing his clothes last minute. And they say women are always late! I wish I had eaten breakfast.

(Sit) Oh, I see the D’Souzas. Is that their son? Must be home from the ship. So tall and handsome. That moustache is not a good idea though. They must be planning to get him settled soon, he must be 27 years old by now. High time.

(Stand for entrance hymn, join in ‘Enter His Gates’) The choir is sounding kind of screechy. May be it’s the mics. Usually I like this choir. They choose nice lively hymns. But this song we used to sing since I was in Sunday school. I like that girl’s outfit, very stylish. My goodness, that lector is wearing such a short skirt. And so much make up. Don’t they have a dress code? My blouse goes nicely with my skirt. But do the shoes really match? Oh no, my nail polish is all chipped! I should have worn my closed shoes. Hopefully no one looks at my feet.

(Priest:… who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God forever and ever) Amen!

(Sits down) I should pay attention to the readings, I never remember what they’re about after Mass. That reader has a really funny accent. They should pick people who speak English properly. Did she just say meditate instead of mediate? And dessert instead of desert? Ha ha, that would make a good joke. Man, I just want some dessert. May be we can pick up some gulab jamun on the way home. But Hubby will make some comment about my diet. He better not! If he does, I’ll say…

(Reader: The word of the Lord.) Thanks be to God. Oh no, I missed the whole reading. What was it about? No idea. Oh well, I’m probably not the only one. Look at everyone else, they look so sober and staid. But I bet they are also thinking about dessert and lunch. Good thing I marinaded the chicken earlier. It shouldn’t take long to get lunch ready. I should have taken out another packet though… I don’t think it will be enough for dinner also.

(Stand up for acclamation and Gospel) This is a nice tune. Why is he saying Alleluia again? Didn’t the choir already sing it? I’m pretty sure you don’t have to sing it AND say it. Oh, I know this story! The lost sheep, nice one. But does it really make sense to leave all the other sheep to go after the one that’s lost. Not very logical. Maybe Father will bring out some meaning. Why does Father always talk in that way? Maybe he learned it at seminary, for emphasis. But I feel like he’s emphasizing all the wrong words. I wonder if I could imitate it. Hubby would laugh. Oh no, that’s not very respectful. We shouldn’t be disrespectful to priests. Or to the dead. Who can we be disrespectful to? Or at least make jokes about? Politicians, I suppose.

(Sit down for homily) I hope Father doesn’t talk too long. I don’t think that’s the correct pronunciation of Maximilian Kolbe. I wonder if anyone else in the church knows that, or if they will all start calling Saint Kolb! Or wait, maybe I’m wrong. No, I’m pretty sure I’m right. One should always admit it when one is wrong. I like being right though. When was the last time I said, “You’re right, I guess I got that wrong?” Wow, I’m having such a spiritual introspective moment right now, so appropriate for Mass.

But what is Father talking about? I missed the whole story he just told. Oh, he’s connecting the lost sheep with prison ministry Sunday. I’ve never been to a prison. I wonder what it would be like. I remember reading that book about that Communist guy from Mumbai talking about his experiences in prison. Or is it jail? I can never remember the difference. It was really horrific. Chilli powder and torture... ugh. I need to think about something else. What’s Father saying now? I’m feeling so sleepy. I shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night. At least I got some coffee before coming. Arrey! Hubby is dozing off! That’s why God gave him a wife! To poke him in the ribs. I bet he’d make an Adam and Eve and rib joke if I said that aloud. (Poke) Ha ha, he got such a shock. I hope no one else saw. I remember when I was a kid the Mass used to feel so long. It still feels long though. Especially when I’m sleepy and hungry. Oh, the chicken curry is going to taste so good. Is this homily ever going to end?

(Stand for the I Believe) Oh no, he’s taking the long version. No one knows it anyway. I guess I can look at the hymnal, but then I’ll look stupid. Guess I’ll just mumble at the parts I forget.. consubstantial with the Father.. Lord, the giver of life… I really should know this by now. It’s okay, even Father stumbles over some of the words.

(Sit for Offertory) Oh I like this song. But they’re talking it too high again. Hello, we want to join in too! I guess I can just croak along. God loves a cheerful singer. Or is it a cheerful giver? I forgot my purse. Did Hubby bring some cash? There’s a second offering after Communion but I don’t have two notes. Now what to do? Hopefully others will give more. I wonder if the main collection goes down when there’s a second collection. I wonder if offertory means offering our money. But it has something to do with the bread and wine. How do they choose who takes the bread and wine to the altar? I wonder if they’ll ever choose Hubby and me.

(Stand for Eucharistic prayer) We’ve got to be at least halfway through Mass by now. Why do I come to Mass? I guess it wouldn’t feel like Sunday if I didn’t come. I can’t even imagine how Mummy and Daddy would react if I stopped coming for Sunday Mass. I know Katie and Allen don’t come any more. They have such nice lazy Sunday mornings. I wish I could wake up late on Sunday... no, I shouldn’t think like that. I know Sunday Mass is important. I’m sure God will bless Hubby and me for being here.

(Kneel after the Sanctus) God, please bless Hubby and me, and our parents, and our work. Thank you for giving us such good jobs. Oh no, the presentation is due tomorrow. I have so much left to do. Maybe if we have an early lunch, I take a quick nap, I can spend the evening working on it. I know Hubby wanted to go see the parents, but now what to do? He can go alone, and I’ll have the house to myself.

(After the Consecration) Ugh, I can never remember if we’re supposed to stand or keep kneeling now. Why are half the people standing? Do they know something we don’t? Are the people kneeling holier than the people standing? Why can’t Father just give us clear instructions? I’ll just stay kneeling, it’ll look stupid to stand up now.

(Great Amen) Okay, NOW everyone is standing. Oh, people are opening their hands for the Our Father. Are they just imitating the priest? Or do they want me to hold their hand? I know many people hold hands for the Our Father. But how weird would it be if I held a stranger’s hand when he was just trying to pray. Awkward! I should do it just for the laugh. But I don’t really want to hold anyone’s hands. Except for Hubby. Remember when we used to hold hands all the time during our courtship?

(Sign of Peace) I always turn to the wrong side. Why do I feel like everyone I turn to show peace to is always wishing someone else? There’s like six people around me and I only manage to make eye contact with two. Is this deliberate? Why doesn’t anyone give a real smile? Oh! That lady just flashed me a huge smile. That’ll teach me not to be so judgy. Unless she actually knows me? She looks vaguely familiar.

(Communion Service – kneel briefly, then sit) The choir is very talented, but I feel the sopranos should be a little softer. Some people just like feeling like pop stars. Well, I guess in the US, many pop stars did start singing in their church choirs… though I suppose most of them get sucked into the wild celebrity life pretty soon. Wow, that Kaitlyn’s hair is very pretty. I wonder if I should colour my hair again. Just highlights. Not sure if Hubby really likes that or not. But I got lots of compliments last time.

(Get up to join Communion line) Wow, Kaitlyn is towering over me in those heels. I would be worried about stumbling in front of everyone if my heels were that high. Oh, the other line is getting shorter. Should I join it to even it out? But then it’s harder to get back to my side of the church. Anyway, Father is on this side and that old auntie is distributing Communion on the other side, so I’ll stay here. I know extraordinary ministers of communion are fine, but she probably has less experience than Father. Should I receive by hand or tongue? I read somewhere it’s more reverent to receive by tongue. But suppose Father’s hand touches my tongue accidentally, euggh. Or suppose his hand touched someone else’s tongue and they’re sick? I’ll just receive by hand.

(Returning to place and kneeling) Yuck, Kaitlyn’s hair is in my face. I wish she wouldn’t sit so far back. Dear Jesus., thank you for coming into my heart like they told me at my first Communion. But I guess You’re literally entering my digestive system right now. Does that mean your grace is filling my full body right now? If that’s the case, can you please heal my painful shoulder, and my stomach issues too. That may have been the food we ate outside last night. Anyway, Jesus, like I was saying earlier, bless me, bless my family, keep us all in good health, bless my work. Help Hubby and me to meet our work goals so we can get down to buying our own flat. Rent is so expensive. I guess we could have lived with his Mum and Dad but I think it’s better we’re on our own. Oh, I’m getting distracted again. Anyway thank you, Jesus for all your blessings. Amen.

(Sits) Who all are here for 8.30 am mass? It’s so packed. Will anyone notice if I sneak a glance around? Otherwise I can only see the people in front of me. Oh no, someone looked back at me! Oh well, they were probably doing the same thing as I was. Wow, that is a beautiful saree. I should wear sarees more often. But it’s such a pain draping them. They should have saree-draping lessons in school instead of cross-stitch, it would have been more useful.

(Stands as priest says ‘Let us pray’, then sits again) That always feels like it should be the end of Mass, but now there’ll be ten minutes of announcements. Oh no, it’s going to be even longer because of banns. Wait a minute, Sheena, daughter of Martin and Assunta? Wasn’t she in school with me? She’s marrying a guy from Mumbai. I wonder if it was love or arranged. Most people assume if you’ve crossed thirty it must be arranged. But who knows? The prayer group gets an announcement every week. I wonder if anyone goes for their talks. I wouldn’t go unless I knew it was going to be a really good speaker and a really good topic. Why do I assume most talks in church are going to be boring or not relatable? I guess word of mouth advertising and personal invitations always work better than announcements. Aren’t they over yet? What time is it? The people for the next Mass must be waiting outside. I think it’s getting over… wow, that is a LOT of money they get in collections. I suppose it takes a lot for the upkeep of the church. I wonder what percentage is spent on outreach to the poor. I suppose I could find out if I really cared.

OH NO! Now they’re having felicitations for the tenth standard students! This is ridiculous! It’s a hostage situation. Just because Father hasn’t given the final blessing, I’m stuck here. Hubby is looking restless too. Probably thinking of his bacon and eggs.

(Stands for Final Blessing. “Mass is ended. Go in peace.”) THANKS BE TO GOD! I’M OUT OF HERE!

[Keep watching this space for follow up posts on how NOT to be this typical Catholic.]

Sue’s New and Improved Personality Types

Anyone who knows me in person or reads my blog knows how much I love personality type indicators. I am infamous for analyzing people’s Myers-Briggs personality types as my preferred form of small talk at parties. (The only person who won’t let me categorize him is my boyfriend.) But I have moved a step beyond MBTI, temperaments, and all those mainstream categories. Try out my new and improved personality types:

Good Morning Messengers vs Whatsapp Group Leavers 

Good Morning Messengers are the people who just want to spread some love and cheer with a charming picture of flowers or a puppy with melting eyes and a kindly ‘Good morning, friends’ or an inspirational quote. They are touched by receiving such messages. They want to sprinkle this love and positivity in every Whatsapp group they are a part of. They cannot understand anyone who is not like them. “Why would you object to such an innocuous and friendly gesture? Don’t you like inspiration? What is wrong with you?’

Whatsapp Group Leavers are the people who are tempted to throw their phone out of the window if they receive ANOTHER GOOD MORNING MESSAGE on a Whatsapp group or as a broadcast message. As they would lose too much money in phone repairs, they opt instead to quietly stalk out of the Whatsapp group when the Good Morning messages or inspirational forwards bring their blood to boiling temperature. Occasionally they send terse messages (especially if they are admins) saying ‘Hi, please refrain from sending messages unrelated to the purpose of this group. Thank you.’ Or they message the people who send broadcast messages saying ‘Hi, please remove me from your broadcast message list. Thanks.’ Note the forced politeness of the ‘Thanks’ at the end. Some of them have a permanent Whatsapp ‘About me’ that reads ‘No forwards please’. It says everything you need to know that that is their ABOUT ME.

Cats vs Dogs 

It is very easy to differentiate Cats and Dogs after a few interactions with most human beings. My friends thought I was randomly assigning labels to people until I proved there was a pattern by asking my sister to do it with me, and we agreed on every person’s personality type. So here’s the Cat and Dog personality type decoded.

Dogs are affectionate, emotionally available, empathetic givers. They love to hang out with people, would rather agree with people than disagree with them, and are enthusiastic about most things. Dogs will run up to you and give you a hug and a kiss. The downside of being a dog is that sometimes dogs can be needy, and feel lonely or neglected easily.

Cats do their own thing. They often disappear from social occasions either physically or mentally. They are reserved, and not as easy to please. They are perfectly happy on their own, and rarely worry about what others think of them or their choices. They are sometime emotionally unavailable. Cats can be pretty judgy. However if you give cats their space, they will come to you on their own, and there is nothing more satisfying than a cat’s affection because you know they are very picky, so a cat rubbing against you and purring is quite a mark of approval. Also cats may not admit this, but they secretly really like receiving affection even though they may not ask for it.

The Fly-by-the-Seat-of-their-Pants vs The Add-Fifteen-Minutes 

Try making a plan with another human being and you will easily find out which category they fit into. The Fly-by-the-Seat-of-their-Pants will vaguely calculate the amount of time they need to get somewhere assuming all conditions are fine, and they plan to leave with exactly that much time to spare. But then when it’s time to leave, you see them chatting away cheerfully, or waltzing around the house grabbing earrings and shoes and putting on make-up (obviously I know more female FBTSOTPs). They will always be late, or perhaps exactly on time, and some of their friends start secretly planning to tell them a time half an hour earlier than everyone else, or to sneak into their house and change all their clocks and cell phone timings.

The Add-Fifteen-Minutes after obsessively checking the address and the time, calculate how much time they will need to get somewhere in the worse possible conditions (‘Let’s assume there’s going to be a terrible traffic accident which will block all the roads, plus the traffic lights go off, plus the cops pull me over to check my license, plus I was told the wrong address ’) and THEN they add another fifteen minutes just in case. The AFMs are usually standing at the door staring at their watch and getting stressed out when the FBTSOTPs are doing their last-minute dance. AFMs are usually early or on time to most events, but they live their life slightly more stressed out than their counterparts, who always optimistically believe everything is going to work out so they reach in time, even though it rarely works out that way.

The Ironers vs The Creases-Happen 

The Ironers iron everything. They usually need an extra 30 minutes to prepare to leave for any event because it takes them that much time to iron all their clothes perfectly. It pains them to see people wearing slightly creased clothes. If creases appear in their previously-ironed clothes, they are quite likely to take it off and iron it all over again. To the bemusement of non-Ironers, these guys iron their bed sheets, their underwear and their socks.

The Creases-Happen folk are far more chilled out about ironing. They may or may not know where the iron in the house is located. They consider ironing clothes an extra special task one does for special occasions like weddings. When the creases in their clothes are pointed out to them, they shrug and say ‘Creases happen.’ Their theory is that no matter whether one irons or not, life will add creases to their clothes, so why bother ironing? Occasionally, if feeling pressured to iron, they may try to iron clothes while still wearing them (not advised).

The Night Dishwashers vs The Chatters 

You will find out where you lie only at the end of a party. The Night Dishwashers start washing dishes even before the guests start leaving. They are agonizingly aware of all the dishes piling up as people socialize and keep eating and discarding dirty plates and glasses. As the party draws to a close, the mountains of dishes draw them in. No matter how tired they are, they consider it the unforgivable sin to leave it till the next morning.

Meanwhile The Chatters are living in the moment. They see not the dishes but the people, and they will keep the party going and the guests entertained until the last moment. And THEN they sit down and put their legs up and chat about how the party went. They cannot understand why The Night Dishwashers are so obsessed with the dishes. “Why not leave them till the morning?” It is the question that divides them, an impassable chasm. The Chatters’ deepest desire is for The Night Dishwashers to just sit down and rest and hang out with them. The Night Dishwashers’ deepest desire is for The Chatters to offer to help to do the dishes and clean up all the messes. Mary and Martha had Jesus to sort them out, but you guys better get that communication on if you are living in the same house.

So there you go. I hope you found these personality types helpful in figuring out who you are, and why everyone finds you so annoying. You’re welcome.

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The Tale of a City Girl in Nature

My niece E in Panchgani- she's supposed to be a younger version of me. 

Prologue 

"I think that Panchgani is where I am my truest self!" I announced to my sister and father.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, I feel more clear-headed, I can breathe and think, and I even WANT to go on walks here. This is my true home where I belong. City life just fogs up my brain and makes me lethargic and tired."

I fondly considered a future where the hills would be my home as I energetically lived life as a new and improved version of Sue. If I had thought of it, I would have broken into a chorus of 'BOORN FREE AS FREE AS THE WIND BLOWS AS FREE AS THE GRASS GROOOWS BORN FREE TO FOLLOW YOUR HEART!' Unfortunately, I didn't think of it then. (Fortunately, from my sister's perspective.)

Unseen by me, the Creatures of Panchgani snickered in the background.

Chapter 1: Leaping Lizards 

I sat on the window sill drinking my chai and soaking in the sunset when suddenly two frisky lizards appeared close to me. I jumped up, spilling my chai and grabbing at my phone and bag to get them out of the way. "I'm not SCARED of lizards- I don't mind them when they're calmly hanging out on the ceiling. It's only when they're frisky that I get worried." My dad chased them out (without much drama, as compared to the past when chasing lizards out usually involved flinging pots of hot water and removing corpses), and I resumed my at-one-with-nature persona.

Chapter 2: Nature Documentary Outside Our Window 

"OHMYGOSH did you see that? It's practically a baby alligator!!" (Who me, a drama queen?) It was a few minutes later, and our window was safely shut, but on the outside, a giant lizard appeared eating large winged insects. "Eek, that's disgusting!" We could hear the flutter of insect wings and the lizard feasting on them. "Gross! That is HUGE!" "Just close the curtains!" my dad said, and came over and drew them shut. With the uglier side of nature out of sight, we continued our conversation.

Chapter 3: Network Magic vs. The Wild 

"I'm not getting enough network to download an image on Whatsapp." I wandered around the house trying to find the Internet sweet spot. I needed to see that image. Finally I realized my only option was to go out. With the vision of that large lizard fresh in my mind, I was extremely reluctant, but the allure of the Network Magic was strong too. I decided to do a quick foray outside and run back in. "I've practically grown up here. What am I scared of?" I walked out with my phone into the pitch-black night, my ears strained to hear sounds of the giant lizard or any other dangerous creature. The terrifying flutter of unseen insects almost unnerved me (where there are fluttering insects, there are giant lizards) but as I walked down the path, I almost stepped on something ALIVE.. And I gave up on network and fled inside locking the door behind me.

Chapter 4: The Unnerving Incident of The Moth in the Night-time 

My sister and I retired to our bedroom for the night. There was cold air coming in from the window, so I went to shut it. A large motionless moth was attached to the screen, and a few cockroach-looking insects jumped in as I opened the screen to shut the outer window. "Eugghh. I mean, no big deal." One of them jumped into my sister's bag but I didn't want to freak her out in case she expected me to help her de-insect her bag. "It's just a little one. No biggie." She only half-believed me and had her own little freak-out moment while I chortled from the safety of my bed.

After we were both in our beds, we began to hear another noise. The moth had awoken, and was trapped between the screen and the closed glass window.

Flap-flap-flap. Flap-flap-flap. Flap-flap-flap.

We tried to ignore it for a while, but the flapping was incessant. Why not just let it out, you say? Well, if I opened the screen, it would most likely come rushing into our room, with every other creepy insect that was hanging out in that space. And that was a risk I was just not willing to take.

Flap-flap-flap. Flap-flap-flap. Flap-flap-flap.

Why did I feel like an animal-torturer? It's not like it couldn't breathe or anything.

Finally I gave up. I knew what my other option was, I just hadn't wanted to face it. It was to go outside the house in the dark and open the window from the outside. It had to be done, and I had to be the one. (Not because I'm braver - on the contrary, I usually leave all insect-related activities to my roommates. But this time my sister was sick, burning up with fever, so I had no excuse.)

I crept out of the house using my phone flashlight. It was past 11 pm and my dad was snoring in the next room. I had played it all out in my head. It was no big deal. I kept my eyes on the ground praying I wouldn't step on anything, then reached the side of the house, and opened the window. But the moth wouldn't move for a few seconds.

THEN IT DID. It flew out.... DIRECTLY INTO MY FACE AND LONG OPEN HAIR! I did what anyone would do in such a situation - I freaked out, my hands flailing and trying to get it out, and let out a few loud choice bad words. Then I ran back in the house, my pulse racing and my heart pounding in my chest.

"I heard you saying some bad words," remarked my sister, instead of congratulating me on my bravery. We reflected a few moments on how bad words aren't sins if they slip out accidentally, but how they can still cause scandal to some people, so I should probably work a little harder at finding replacement words for moments of stress and terror. I also gave thanks that my dad slept through it all, and that no one other than my sister had been there to witness that moment.

Conclusion 

I still think Panchgani is my true home. However I also have come to the conclusion that I am really a city girl at heart, and pretending to be a country girl will probably give me heart failure one day.

Related Reading

A Tale of a Mouse in da House 

A Horrific Evening of Nightmares Come True

How I Know I’m Growing Old Edition 5ish

As you all know, I LOVE writing about how old I am. I wrote about it here, here and even here. Oh wait, here too.

My Old People Shoes: I undertook the scary task some months ago of going shoe-shopping. I was looking for some ‘normal’ slip-ons to take the place of my black chappals that I pretty much live in, just in case I actually needed to go somewhere where actual shoes were required when I went on my visit to the US. To my surprise, I found a pair I actually liked, and were within my budget, and hadn’t exceeded my two hour shopping trip exhaustion limit. I was quite proud of myself and wore the shoes several times.

One morning I was at the beauty salon (are they still called that?) feeling quite put together with my new shoes, but trying to avoid awkward small-talk (as INTJs do), when an old lady in her 70s came up to me. Then she said the words any woman in her 30s would dread: “Where did you get your shoes? I’ve been searching all over for this exact type!” Why yes, I had picked out the exact style that old ladies love to wear.

My Fashion Style: I had been feeling like I needed something easy but artistic to add to my hair. “How about a flower?” I thought. We were at a mall, and I looked at a few, but they mostly seemed childish and overpriced. I went home, but my sister kept an eye out for one, and soon sent me a picture of a couple of options. I liked the red rose, so she bought that one for me. I wore it one day to school, and felt pretty happy with myself.

We went on a trip to Vasai last weekend for a retreat, and I decided to take my rose along, just in case the flower-wearing mood struck me. I didn’t wear it to Adoration because it made me a little self-conscious, but wore it to the celebratory Lord’s Day dinner. I looked at the other fashionable younger women though, and none of them seemed to be wearing flowers. “Hmm, maybe I’m just artistic but not fashionable.” The next day at Mass at a little church the truth was revealed to me. The roses WERE in fashion – I saw the EXACT rose I was wearing… in the hair of multiple authentic Maharashtrian middle-aged aunties wearing sarees as they worshipped.

My References to ‘Young People’: When I started as a Catholic full-timer in India, I remember laughing with my team at priests constantly talking about ‘youngsters’. I stopped laughing recently when I started noticing how often the term ‘young people’ made it into my conversation… and how I usually was NOT including myself in that category.

My Solidarity with My Dad’s Road Rage: My dad and I were riding to meet my family for lunch. We were on my Activa, and as our light turned green, we rode forward with the rest of the flow of traffic. Into this law-abiding group of citizens barreled a rickshaw cutting a red light and blocking us. What I usually do in such circumstances is dodge the offender and shoot him or her a dirty look. But this was my dad. What HE did was bellow, “WHOOAAA!!!!!!” at the rickshaw driver. In previous years, I world have been mortified. Instead I heartily approved and even muttered, “Blinkin’ idiot,” as we passed. I have become my dad.

My Intolerance of Any Noises in the Night: “Do they have any idea what time it is?” “Are they not aware that there are people sleeping?” “Grumble grumble this is ridiculous - so what if they’re celebrating, do we all have to suffer because they are happy?”

My Love for The Seekers: So if you don’t know The Seekers, this won’t make as much of an impression. Let me turn to Wikipedia to describe what I mean. Yes, The Seekers are an Australian folk-influenced pop quartet from the sixties. So you will often see me cooking and singing along to ‘Hey there, Georgy Girl’ and ‘A World of Our Own’. My mum used to listen to this band (when she was pregnant with me which apparently explains everything), and often sings their songs too, so I guess I’m becoming my mum too.

People Guessing I’m Older Than I Am: I’ve been so confident about my youthful looks that I’m always a little cocky about telling people I’m ‘REALLY OLD’ and still having them guess that I’m in my mid-2os. Well, that back-fired recently when a couple of new friends took me at my word, and guessed that I was either 35 or 37. Got a good helping of humility (or do I mean humiliation) there.

In conclusion, I am 32. But really 40 isn’t THAT far away, so I’m just trying to get mentally prepared for that by calling myself old 8 years in advance. (Sorry you aged 40 year olds.)

The Questions You Always Had about Christian Women’s Households

Many people in India are shocked to hear that I do not live with my parents even though we live in the same city. I live in a flat with three other women (at the moment, it changes), down the road from the school at which my team serves. There are usually amazed questions that we have all faced from people who think only college students would choose a life like that, and can’t imagine what our life looks like. So here you go, some common questions (plus some we made up) and our honest answers.

So… you cook? 

Amazing at it may seem, I am quite capable as a 32 year old woman who has lived away from home for most of the past eight years, of feeding myself and others with REAL food. I can make bhajis and chapatis, rice and dal, and plenty of other yummy dishes too. Somehow people equate being unmarried with being helpless. MY mum was not just cooking for but also raising four young children when she was 32 (the youngest arrived when she was 33). Each of the women in our household take turns to cook. But of course, we do NOT live the life of a typical Indian wife and mom – we do not cook every day. We schedule cooking every other day, and are quite happy to eat leftovers, and do not demand or expect fresh chapatis at every meal.

Perfectly round chapatis are not usually found in our home. Probably why we're still single.

Every now and again we ‘scrounge’ (as I like to refer to it) when there’s no regular food left. I consider hummus with chips a great in-between meal. Or hummus sandwiches. Or hummus with veggies. (We make GREAT hummus.)

And who cleans? 

Once again, we are adult women quite capable of cleaning our own home. I don’t at all judge those who hire a cleaning lady, especially when they have kids or very demanding jobs. But we don’t need to do that, and take pride in being able to work with our hands. Funny story, when I first moved away from home, I lived with an American volunteer who was shocked that I had a maid growing up. “What does Sue have in common with a princess?” she asked, and then supplied the answer- “She has never cleaned a toilet.” Well, that’s changed. We have a weekly chore chart, and while our house is not always pristine, and we do have messy days, we manage to keep it fairly clean.

Do y’all fight? 

Not really. One of the women I live with is my sister, so we occasionally have disagreements that we talk out. But the beauty of being not very young adults is that we’ve learned to extend grace to each other, not make a big deal about small stuff, and assume the best about each other.

What is the best thing about living in household? 

I read some American Catholic single writing about how hard it is to be unmarried – no one to cook for, to come back home to. I don’t know why people assume marriage is the only way to have community. I love that we have people to do stuff for. If I was alone, I probably wouldn’t cook at all, or follow any kind of schedule, and would probably get pretty depressed. I love that I always have someone to talk to about my day (and my dreams), to go to Mass with, to laugh with and to pray with. It's great for accountability and growth in discipline.

Actually one of my favourite moments each day is at about 9 pm when we gather in our living room to pray the Divine Office and sing the Salve Regina at the end. It is a quiet and peace-filled way to end each day.

I asked my household sisters what their answers would be and they said –

The discipline of our life together, combined with freedom. We follow a common schedule, but with large chunks of time to do our own personal tasks. It’s not like being at home a parent telling you what to do, we choose it freely.

The freedom and lack of guilt or blame – even if we occasionally forget our chores, no one makes a big deal about it, but just reminds us.

The conversations – every night we eat dinner together and just chat about everything.

What’s the hardest thing about living in household? 

For me, it’s balancing the needs of the introverts with the extroverts. I am far more aware in household how an extreme on either side can hurt the other members. Even though I am often a chatterbox, I often withdraw into my own world, with my phone or laptop or book. I can do that for hours at a time. But then I realize I haven’t even asked my household sisters how their day has been, and I wonder if they are secretly feeling isolated or hurt by me. At the same time, I can’t do constant long conversations, because I start feeling frustrated or exhausted, and I know other introverts feel the same way. So that’s sometime hard.

For the others- Not having a water heater (aka geyser) or a washing machine. Technically we could buy them, but this is a temporary home, and we try to live simply, or make do, so we are not planning to do so.

For our newest member who has never lived away from home, it is just feeling a little homesick, and not yet finding her comfort zone.

What advice would you give a group of women (or men) who were planning to set up their own Christian household? 

Do it! It is totally worth it! If you are planning to be married some day, this is a great preparation for married life. You have to adjust, and face your own selfishness and temptation to blame and be resentful. But if you’re willing to learn these lessons of love, how beautiful the resulting fellowship is! And if you're probably not getting married, it's a great opportunity to build a happy home.

My household sisters’ advice –

Learn how to do conflict resolution before you move into a household. Most Indians don’t talk directly about issues, but we have to learn how to do it. We need to unlearn unhealthy habits of communication like being passive-aggressive, or using anger or accusation as a weapon, or avoiding issues.

Be clear about expectations and jointly decide beforehand what your schedule and goals are. When people do make mistakes, do not accuse or make them feel guilty, but gently remind one another about the decisions made.

Get to know each other’s likes and dislikes, needs and schedules, so that no one treads on each other’s toes, and each person has the space that they need.

And bonus question that someone actually asked us – what is one old person thing that you all do? 

Well, we’re all deaf. We constantly have conversations that go –

“Huh?”

“What? Are you talking to yourself or to me?”

“What did you say? What did she say?”

 “She said she doesn’t like mumblemumblemumble.”

“She doesn’t like WHAT?”

“SHE DOESN’T LIKE MUMBLEMUMBLEMUMBLE!!!”

“Oh, never mind.”

Well, either we’re all deaf, or we all mumble. Quite possibly both.

Us soon.

The other old person thing that we do is Zumba. Or rather Refitrev. You might say that’s a young people thing. But that’s the point, we look at those videos and try to follow along and start feeling our age.

“Why are they all so skinny and chirpy?” (about the dance instructors)

“No, we don’t want to be your friend. We have enough friends.” (When the dance instructors try to have intimate chats with us at the beginning of the videos.)

Sorry, white women, you don't have a monopoly on this.

“How do they even do that step? I’m too old for this.”

“They’re moving too fast! And there are too many steps. How do they expect us to remember all these steps?”

“Never mind, just keep moving your body awkwardly, the point is to be healthy not be expert dancers.”

“I can do THAT! Thank God the windows are closed anyway.”

“How long has it been? I’m exhausted. Twenty minutes? Yup, I’m done.”

 And that, my friends, is a Christian Women's Household.

The Great Indian Road Race

Like most young (I use the term loosely) middle class adults in big Indian cities, I spend a lot of time zooming around the streets on my two-wheeler (aka moped by non-Indians). I have often found myself thinking how well Indian roads would lend themselves to an excellent video game. Now granted I’m not an expert on video games, but I remember riding a motorcycle on Road Rash and kicking my competitors. Just empty roads and speeding along them. How much more exciting and challenging Indian roads are! So for all you game-makers out there, here’s my best shot, and I expect a chunk of the profits.

Level 1: Pedestrian 

This is the underdog of the streets, but we must all start here. As the Pedestrian, you must dodge bikes, cars, buses, and excrement (human and animal) while trying to make it from Point A to Point B. You can choose between the streets or the sidewalk. You’d think the sidewalk would be the better choice, but you would find your way blocked by shop displays, parked cars, sleeping animals and drunk men. If you choose the street, you must face blaring horns, while darting across and swivelling your head back and forth to avoid oncoming traffic who ignore the 3 second pedestrian crossing light. If you miss the light (which you will), you must choose the right emoji to gain the sympathy of passing vehicles long enough for them to slow down and let you pass. You must perform tricky manoeuvres (carefully-used umbrella, to avoid the puddles splashed by rude cars during the monsoons. You get bonus points for not using your Curse Button. If you make it to your destination without dying and with relatively clean clothing, you can pass on to the next level…

Level 2: The Cyclist 

The Cyclist has the advantage of speed (at least over the Pedestrian), but cannot control that speed as well. This can lead to an early demise while trying to cross roads. You as the Cyclist are equally prone to mud splashes, perhaps even more so as your cycle kicks up water. You may be excited by specially designated cycle tracks, but you still have to dodge motorcyclists who THINK it’s a MOTORcycle track, not to mention rickshaws with a slightly unrealistic perspective of their size. You also have to juggle a lunch bag on your handle bars, and occasionally a loved one on the back of your cycle. If you make it to the finish line, you move to…

Level 3: The Biker 

The bikers have the power to zoom, but fear not, it won’t be too boringly easy. Even though you CAN go up to 70 km per hour, you never have the opportunity to because of the crowded streets. Instead of speed, you get to use your dodging, overtaking and slipping through cracks skills. For fun, sweet little puppies will shoot out in the middle of the road, and you must swerve without hitting anyone OR killing the puppy.

Cows chilling out in the middle of the road occasionally transform into frisky running cows being chased by a dog. You must have the balance in case you get caught in the middle of uneven slabs of road concrete, and the good judgment to know where a puddle is not just a puddle but a pothole. Traffic lights must be obeyed, but very cautiously so as not to get rear-ended by a less rule-abiding bus. Bonus points for peer-pressuring other traffic into stopping at lights, slowing down so pedestrians can cross, and not getting splashed by cars. Points will be subtracted if you speed up to prevent Pedestrians from being able to cross the road. Your focus on reaching your destination may be taken away by a Road Accident - all bikers MUST pull over to view the accident, join in the argument or just stare. If you get through this, you will reach…

Level 4: Rickshaw Driver 

You have the super-skill of being able to rotate 180 degrees without needing to back up at all. However you may get delayed by irate passengers who flag you down and then refuse your services just because you ask for an extra fifty rupees for return fare. Also, if you catch sight of an Ola or Uber, all rickshaws MUST stop to get into an argument with their drivers. Even if you skip all these potential hazards, you must screech to a grinding halt if the Rickshaw Union calls a strike. Failure to comply can result in loss of life.

Level 5: Car 

Your aim is to not only make it safely to the destination but also avoid any scratches to your brand-new car named ‘Mother’s Blessing’. You get points subtracted for using your Curse Button on pedestrians or cyclists from the comfort of your air-conditioned bubble. You must try not to hit bikes who have sudden changes of mind about their preferred lanes, while also trying to overtake buses stuck on the wrong side of the road, without anyone else hitting you. You can lose your life by getting in an accident with a Sumo full of men in dark glasses, and foolishly getting out of your car to argue with them.

Level 6: Bus 

This is the highest level and takes the greatest amount of expertise. You will have the bulk but must have the corresponding agility of a very large man tiptoeing through the narrow aisles of an overstocked glassware shop (yes, my own take of a bull in a china store). You have the ability to kill, but not the license to do so. You are also on a tighter time schedule than all the other levels. Although you may think your large and threatening size prevents you from losing your life, this is in fact not true, as you will find when you hit a hapless pedestrian attempting to cross the road, and a violent mob materializes out of nowhere holding iron rods and hockey sticks. Your only option is to take to your heels and finish the rest of the race on foot.

Flash Monsoon Round for All Levels 

The skies open and the rains come down causing all traffic lights to go off, instant traffic jams, immediate increase in the volume and duration of blaring horns, and angry, wet and muddy people, vehicles and dogs to swarm the roads. Each level must improvise to survive. The Curse Button will be disabled for this round for fear of being over-used.

Cheat Code: Call on your guardian angel. Only one provided per player. Guardian angels give advice and can help in sticky situations. However if you ignore the advice of your guardian angel, there are no guarantees for whether or not he will show up again.

Okay, this game is just waiting to be created. While we wait, let’s go for a spin on the streets for a little practise. Hope to see you all again on this side of heaven.

P.S. If not a video game, this could also be offered in real life to tourists as a Death-Defying Adventure Sport on the same level as bungee- jumping and paragliding, but without the safety features and more local colour.

Three Everyday Situations That Stress Socially Anxious Introverts Out

I promise I’m not a complete mess. The calm and capable Sue that many of you know is not just a facade. I’ve learned over the years to deal with anxious and awkward feelings and for the most part, I don’t find the world at large scary and intimidating. That said, I still have remnants of social anxiety and a lot more self-awareness than I used to, and a willingness and desire to talk it out (sorry, fam). So here are some of those situations, just so we Socially Anxious Introverts can feel less alone (while still actually being alone as we read this post on our phones).

Usually only for female introverts: Beauty Salons 

Or as we used to call ‘em, beauty parlours. You know, the place we go to get hair removed from various parts of our bodies as dictated by society (why aren’t unibrows cool yet?), not to mention get our hair trimmed, cut and coloured, our nails manicured and polished, our faces.. um.. treated.. whatever. I’m no beauty expert. In fact, I probably go to these places a lot less than most women I know. Why? Not because I don’t like looking pretty (according to current social norms of pretty). Not even because I’m a sissy who can’t handle the pain of having hair extracted from my forehead. I grit my teeth and offer it up, while pondering whether suffering for the sake of beauty can simultaneously have any spiritual value, and concluding that ‘nothing offered to God is wasted’.

No, my real problem is that every trip to the local beauty salon is a scary adventure fraught with socially awkward situations, kind of like crossing a minefield and trying very hard not to blow up. Extroverts probably think I’m crazy. “Yay! People I might know and can chat too!” Introverts instead think, “Aaargh! People I may know! People who may know me! Not very well! People who know my mum. People who don’t like me! Or my mum! Any and all of these combinations of people could be there when I walk in, or walk in as I sit there defenseless. Small talk! To talk or not to talk? Did that person just not notice me or are they ignoring me? Or do they think am I ignoring them?”

I kid you not, I once went to a beauty salon, saw someone who I thought I knew and had not parted on good terms with. However, I wasn’t totally sure it was her. She looked different. Perhaps a different haircut? Or was it a totally different person? Since we didn’t part well, if it WAS her, I needed to say hello so as to make peace. If it wasn’t her, er... that could be awkward. The awkwardness was compounded by the fact that she was totally ignoring me. But I couldn’t just let it go. I had to do something.

So this is what I did. I said “Hello” in her direction in a not very loud voice. My rationale was that if it WAS her, she would be aware of my presence, would hear me and look up. Common courtesy would compel her to respond to my greeting, and even if she still bore me ill will, well, at least we had said hello. If she was a stranger, she would think she misheard or that I was talking to someone else, and she would just continue staring ahead at the mirror.

She didn’t respond. Okay, maybe she was a stranger? Or maybe she just hadn’t heard me because I wasn’t loud enough? Or maybe she hated my guts so much that she was ignoring my small attempt at reconciliation? AAARGHHHH! So much tension and anxiety! I still don’t know to this day if it was her or not.

This is what I think would be a great idea. Beauty salons with individual cubicles. Why is this not a thing yet? C’mon, I’m sure I’m not the only one with this problem!

Only for Catholic introverts: Receiving Communion 

You think I’m joking, right? I’m the Catholic who can wax eloquent about the beauty of God becoming bread so that He can satisfy our hunger, of the privilege of receiving Him in the Eucharist, of the very real transforming power I experience after receiving Him in this way. And yet, I am not immune from the very real awkwardness connected with actually physically getting into a line and receiving the Host into my body.

First of all, hand or tongue? Lots of Catholics have lots of strong opinions about this, but the fact of the matter is that the Church allows either as long as Jesus in the Host is received with reverence and faith. So then it comes down to practicality. I used to feel like there was more likelihood of it dropping if I received it on the tongue, so I took it in my hand. But then in recent years I decided that I would try receiving it on my tongue. As long as I made up my mind beforehand, and didn’t debate with myself all the way to the front of the Church. (Yeah, I told you my mind is nuts.)

But even after deciding to receive on my tongue, there are so many factors. Like am I opening my mouth right, sticking my tongue out far enough, at the right angle? Because if I get it wrong, the gross and awkward result is that the priest or extraordinary minister’s hand touches my tongue euggh euggh eughh. And then goes on to continue to distribute to Host to hundreds of others. Euggh.

What about the many times I have to figure out whether the priest of extraordinary minister has forgotten to say, “The Body of Christ”, or whether it is merely his timing that is off? Because there I am waiting to say “Amen”, while the impatient priest is waiting for me to open my mouth and stick my tongue out. It is a very delicately timed operation with too many potential ways to fail. I salute you, distributors of Communion, for bravely facing the awkwardness day after day for the sake of spiritually feeding the followers of Christ.

Apart from the awkwardness of the Communion line, there is also the awkwardness of reacting to liturgical abuse, like when the priest passed the communion bowl around at a chapel Mass while communicants ‘took’ Jesus instead of receiving Him. I just wanted to focus on receiving Jesus, instead my mind was racked with questions like, “If I know this is abuse, should I just pass the bowl without receiving? Or go up to the priest and ask that he gave it to me (in the way the Church requires)? Or just take it as it is HIS abuse, not mine, and no matter what, it is still Jesus?” I know, I know, I should stop over-thinking things I can't control, and not sweat the small stuff, and let things go, etc, but more easily said than done.

I wish I could just be caught up in ecstasy like St. Catherine of Siena when she received Communion, but alas, I’m not there yet.

For all introverts: Shopping 

I’m not talking about big supermarkets where you can wander down aisles picking things off shopping racks and popping them into shopping carts. That’s a dream situation for introverts, second only to online shopping. I’m talking about the average Indian shopping experience that involves plenty of conversation, interaction and relating.

When I was a kid, I had such a horror of shops that I would go to extreme lengths to offer any of my siblings bribes to go to the shop for me. If my love of junk food surpassed my fear of shops, I would reluctantly drag myself there practising all the way what exactly I would say, what the shopkeeper’s possible responses would be, and what my response would be in each situation. This phobia was probably caused by the fact that I didn’t speak Hindi as a child, and most shopkeepers didn’t speak English. Also little kids usually got ignored, and were made to wait the longest. Also, my parents hate shopping so that may have had something to do with it as well.

But as an adult who has mostly learned to get around, there are varying degrees of annoying and stressful shopping situations.

Exhausting: Being overstimulated by all the people, options, colours, noise and making rash decisions or no decisions as a result. Or in one unfortunate case throwing up in the middle of a shopping center because it was all too much. (Shout out to my resourceful sister J who rushed into a shop and asked for a plastic bag just in time.)

Annoying: Shop assistants who hover and keep asking you questions or shoving various items of clothing at you (this is usually a clothing store problem). Usually I walk out very soon after this happens.

Awkward: Male shopkeepers at lingerie shops whom you have to converse with about bra size and panty style eeshk.

Frustrating: Having a limited budget and having to try on shoes after shoes after shoes that are not your style and then feeling so stressed out that you just buy the least ugly of the lot, which are still pretty ugly and then you go home and vow you will never go shopping again.

Upsetting: Having a shopping companion who hates shopping just as much as you, and hangs back at every shop y’all enter so that you have to do the talking, but then gets frustrated with your indecisiveness and starts pushing you to make a decision which leads you back to the previous situation.

Stressful: Having to shop on behalf of someone else, try to figure out what exactly they meant when they described a particular style, and hope against hope that if you make another stress-induced extravagant purchase they won’t be mad at you, and hopefully can exchange it and never ask you for such a favour again.

This, friends, is why I thanked God when online shopping came to India about six years ago. But don’t get me started on communicating with online shopping delivery men.

So yes, being a Socially Anxious Introvert is a thing. If you identified with any of these scenarios, you just got yourself a new label! Congratulations!

Other awkwardness and social anxiety related posts:

Social Awkwardness: The Confession Stories 
Awkward Comments in India 
More Awkwardness 
Let's Talk About Awkward Hugs
An Indian Catholic in Catholic America 
Thoughts of an Introvert at a Party 
An INTJ's Guide to Praise and Worship

My Dramatic Experience with Essential Oils

I come from a community where half the members are health nuts who love raw vegetables, avoid sugar, exercise regularly and medicate themselves and their families with nothing but garlic and essential oils. The other half eat junk food all the time, watch too many movies, and will never say no to meat or anything deep-fried. You can guess which half I belong to.

In spite of my unhealthy ways, I have one claim to natural health, and that is my little bottle of peppermint essential oil, that I carry everywhere. Peppermint oil has gotten me through the unbearable nausea of swerving roller-coaster bus journeys, not to mention blocked noses, colds and headaches.

A few months ago I was on holiday with my family and my two little nieces got sick. They were both nauseous and feverish, and as you may know, there is nothing more miserable than a sick child, apart from a sick child without her mother. The grandmother and this aunt did their best, but they were still pretty miserable. We gave them medicine, prayed with them, and tried to talk to them to get their minds off it. Then I remembered my peppermint oil.

“Do you want me to put a little peppermint oil on your temples? It helped me when I was nauseous in the past.”

They immediately agreed. (I think they would have agreed even if I had suggested an anti-nausea dance in the rain. They were desperate.)

I pulled out the bottle, and sine I had used it in the past, didn’t read the instructions. I dropped a few drops onto my niece’s hand, and then directed her to rub a bit on her temples and the back of her neck. I was pretty generous with the oil, thinking logically “More peppermint oil = more health and wellness.” My other niece used some too.

Within a few seconds all hell broke loose. Both my nieces started screaming at the top of their lungs “IT’S BURNING! IT’S BURNING! AHHHHHHHHHH!” while tears streamed from their eyes and they desperately hopped around the room in obvious pain.

I was startled, wondering for a moment if they were overreacting, but their continued screams quickly disillusioned me. Guilt consumed me, as I rushed them to the bathroom too try to wash the oil off. (I was kindly informed by an essential oil professional just last week that that was the worst thing I could have done, as water would have just pushed it deeper.. somehow, and what I should have used to clean it off was some other kind of oil. Yes, please address all future essential-oil related questions to me, I am an expert.)

For about five long minutes they screamed and cried and I beat myself up (completely figuratively). “What could have gone wrong? I’ve used it before. Do you think it could have gotten more concentrated with age?” I put a little bit on myself and it burned me too. Then I finally read the instructions on the bottle. Who said only men hate reading instructions? They contained two bits of pertinent information: ‘Mix one drop of peppermint oil with five drops of olive oil’ and ‘Keep away from eyes.’

Ah.

I guess I should return my Aunt of the Year award. So brilliant. Who could take two sick, miserable little girls and only make things ten times worse? Would they ever trust me again? Maybe I should graciously bow out of this whole child care thing.

Suddenly I noticed a silence interrupting my self-recrimination. Then the seven year old yelled, “I’m healed! It worked! I don’t feel vomity any more! Praise the Lord!”

It was true. They both bounced back to normal for the day at least. The next day one was feeling sick again. She sidled up to me and with a sparkle n her eye asked, “Could I have some of that peppermint oil again?”

Give me back that Aunt of the Year award.

(Don’t worry, I mixed it with cooking oil the next time we used it, and applied it far away from her eyes.)