Daily Archives: January 4, 2013

Today’s Post Brought to You by the Letter S

Happy New Year, everybody! In Hindi we say, “Naya Saal, Mubarakh!”

Translated to English it literally means, “May your cows prosper in the New Year!”



It just means, “Happy New Year.”

I just wanted to say thank you to anybody who has been reading Masala Chica or has just started reading. Heck, today could be your first visit here. In which case, let me be the first to say, “Congratulations!”

Just kidding. A little bit.

So, things have been really tough around here. I have been struggling with a lot of things and it’s been a troubled time at the Masala Chica household. A few not so pleasant discoveries that hit me this holiday:

1) Any more than 12 jelly bean flavors is wasteful and bad for the environment. As I sat in my office one day, lamenting the pounds I had gained over the holiday and wondering where they came from while absentmindedly chewing on a jarful of Jelly Belly beans, I realized that we have become really spoiled as a society. Why do we have to have margarita flavored jelly beans or confections that taste like buttered popcorn? Is that what God intended for us when he gave us buttered popcorn? For it to be wrapped in a gelatinous, egg shaped bean so we could gag on it and just wish instead that we had looked close enough and realized we were not reaching for lemon or even coconut, goddamnit.

I often question God. And the Constitution. Sean Hannity too.

But let there be no mistake. This is unnatural.

All you need is this: cherry, grape, blueberry, lemon, watermelon, strawberry, pineapple, pina colada (yes, I know, I know), apple, orange, lime, raspberry and maybe, just maybe pomegranate.

Anything else is just unnecessary and also socially irresponsible. If you say you like buttered popcorn Jelly Bellys, we also can’t be friends anymore.

Photo – Shutterstock
Not necessary. Pare down.

2) My daughter is growing up faster than I am ready for. At 5, let’s just say that Shaila is all about “discovering herself.” I will leave it at that. There are lots of questions which involve the words, “front hiny,” (sorry, that was the best we can come up with), “penis,” and “Shaila, can you please stop doing that? Especially at the dinner table?” John and I are struggling with teaching her what’s appropriate while at the same time not creating any hangups for her so that she does not end up in years of therapy talking about how we made sex a “dirty” or “shameful” thing. Don’t get me wrong.

She most likely will be in therapy, but let it be for other things we have done wrong. Not that.

So, as I look at this beautiful girl growing in front of me in leaps and bounds, I am realizing how quickly time is going by. And sometimes it just scares me how fast it is all going.

Are Carter’s better for your butt? Or Osh Kosh B’Gosh?

The other night, as our family was sitting in the kitchen preparing dinner, Shaila sat at the kitchen table practicing her writing. Suddenly, she looked up and asked in her MEGAPHONE VOICE, not her quiet voice, something that absolutely threw me for a curve.


Silence. Everyone stopped in their tracks. Except for Nico because he was pretending to be Spider Man and was busy climbing up the Christmas tree. (Don’t worry, he didn’t fall. Well, not THEN anyway).

Ok. The day your five year old starts asking questions like this, it’s really time to evaluate your parenting. What are you exposing them to? What had John and I done to create this level of insecurity in our daughter? She should be talking about playing London Bridge and NOT if her Osh Kosh B’Gosh jeans make her ass look big.

The next ten years passed before my eyes quickly.

She’s going to be wanting to diet by age 7. She’s going to want to wear make-up by 8. She’ll be the girl who wears one thing to school and then changes into the hoochie outfit in the bathroom by 9. At ten, she’ll ask if we can put some kind of poison into her lips so they look like Angelina Jolie’s.  She will settle for some lip gloss that stings your lips into thinking they have been attacked by a swarm of bees. She will be the kind of girl who is on Team Angelina, not Team Jennifer. And that just breaks my heart.

I could feel myself panicking.

At 12, she will ask me for financial advice about whether she should start saving up for the boob job at 13, or to see if her dad and I already have it in our budget like her best friend’s parents do. Her best friends will be named something really porny sounding, like Misty Rivers. Or Ivana Wankalot. At 14, I will catch her making out with a 16 year old boy named Butch and she will tell me that Butch has been saving up for her to get not only the implants, but lipo as well. At 16, she will be like that scary looking girl from the show, “The Hills,” who had like 20 procedures done before she was 20 years old.

Oh. My. GOD.

What have I done?

I walked over to her to talk to her, to let her know I love her no matter what size her ass is, and that she is too young to be thinking about stuff like this. And that, worse comes to worse, I am sure that Carter’s might make a pant with more flattering cuts for her butt.

Which is when I leaned over and saw what she was doing. She was neatly writing out her letters. The last one she had done was the letter S.


S for stupid.

S for scary.

S for shit.

And that’s when I realized she was talking about her letter “S.” NOT her ass.

Oh. OH.

“You’re “S” is fantastic,baby,” I said, kissing her on the head, feeling the relief wash over me. I wanted to tell her it was a bit too curvy at the bottom, but thought that might send the wrong message.

For now, her “S” is perfect.

And yes, she does have my “S.” For the record, it’s FANTASTIC.

3) I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I will write more about this later. This year is the year where self-pity, self-important writing about how angst-ridden I am and other bullshit are out the window. Or, maybe just kept to a minimum. 2013 is the year to gain some perspective, change what I can control, take control of my dreams and put some pep back into what’s become a bit of a shuffle, not a step.

I will tell you more about this in my next post. Let’s just say it involves Les Mis, Ma and Papa, too much champagne, a Pinterest pin and chicken curry. I hope I haven’t given it away – I’m sure you can put the story together just with that little teaser.

May you all kick some ass in 2013.

Onward, friends.



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I'm Kiran, I'm a dreamer. A writer. A singer. A mother. An ugly crier. An Indian-American. Who loves Gandhi. My stories are full of truth that is sometimes hard for me to say out loud. This blog is where I overcome my fears and live (and love) out loud. Read More....


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