In Joy: October 2010

Today, the sales are very slow, so the managers assign me to do recovery, which consists of folding clothes, picking up clothes, straightening up, putting clothes back where they originally came from, cleaning, and organizing, etc. Recovery is basically all the work that doesn’t involve ringing at the registrar. Usually, I'm not into doing recovery because I would have to put things back and I don’t have a good photographic memory, which may be helpful for recovery.

I meet a girl, Bhumika, who is my co-worker. Everything about her is dark. She has tanned skin, huge brown deep eyes, a strong cheek bone structure, long black hair that she tied back half-way, coal dark eyebrows and dark long lashes. She has a calm attitude about her, which I really like. Her comforting smile makes me feel relaxed. I am glad to see her again today. I want to talk to her and get to know her. She seems like she is my age, which is why I want to learn more about her.

Other than Bhumika and me, there are two guys assign to this recovery section. They both are pretty much the same height and they are both tall. One is thinner and much more pale than the other. These two guys seem as if they click with each other. Especially because the pale-looking guy is almost following around the other guy, as if he was a duckling depending on his mother duck.

I am curious of their ages and at one moment, I have the chance to ask that question. The pale guy’s friend tells me that he goes to high school where I graduated. Surprised, I thought in my mind, "How come you look much older than me?" He at least looks like he’s in his mid-30s. When I am alone, I shake my head at the truth. I don't know why, but I feel like I have to.

Every once in awhile, I check the time on the computer monitor. I am glad that the time to go home is approaching. Suddenly, I see my manager Regina is approaching; she is a tiny woman who has a lot of wrinkles on her neck. She is wearing a sleeveless shirt with a tight and fresh-looking cardigan over it, short flared skirt and a scarf color that is thicker and darker than the alluring rose. Her fashion demonstrates to me who she is. It seems like she is committed to put a lot of make-up on for her job.

Also, she’s very articulate. I remember at my part-time training orientation, she said, "When I come to work and lock my car, I put all of my worries and personal problems in my car. And I put on a new face, treating this like a Broadway show." I like it. I think it was professional. She is tiny, but when I meet her at the hallway, she is the person who is most easily noticeable. That’s the kind of charisma that she has. Regina throws out my coke bottle that I brought from home since I wasn’t next to it. I want to say something back to her, but I decide not to, since the coke is already gone. I hear the patter of her heels heading away.

After the work is done, Bhumika and Ivan, another employee, who is extremely positive and acting like she thinks she’s cute, step into the sparsely attended parking lot. It is so humid outside that we almost wish for a rain drop; the time is around 9:50 pm. I ask Bhumika what her age is. She tells me that she’s twenty seven. I become surprised, because she looks much younger than that. Also, she says that she is married to somebody that she never met before her wedding.

“So you never went on date before?” I ask.

“Nope. He was my first date, first guy.” She answers me with the softness in her voice, as if there’s nothing wrong with marrying a total stranger.

“But how did you have an emotional connection with him?” I look at her curiously.

“Even though we got married a week after we first met, we had known each other for four years while speaking through the phone. That was how we became attached and everything that we talked about and shared was special to me.”

She also tells me that she had the wedding of her dream.

“Whatever I wanted to do in my wedding, I did all the things; Musical evening party, gorgeous sheer orange chiffon sari, oh, and lots and lots of jewelries. More than 2500 guests came to our wedding and gave us gifts and blessings.” A foolish grin comes over her face.

She further explains to me that her parents had studied and decided the man to share her most intimate joys and fears with. I ask, “Do you think that you gave up on your choice and sacrificed it?”

She shakes her head, “Never. My parents never forced me to do anything. They gave me the choice. If I didn’t like him, I could have decided on another guy again, but I liked him.”

“What’s the greatest reward to you for following your parent’s decision?” I ask as if I am investigating this type of marriage. “I’m happy and I trust my family. Whatever decision they made for me was good for me.”

“Wow,” I say unconsciously. I can feel that this cultural tradition is in her blood and bones.

I continue, “Why do you think that women in India are following what their parents said so well?”

“Um… Indian culture is different. We always ask our parents. I want this, and if they say no, we don’t go further. Parents always take care of child as they get older. That’s how the children learn from their parents. Parents never hurt you, never think wrong about you.”

‘No, Bhumika. That’s not different. Every single parent would do that,’ I talk back to her through my mind. ‘What a story..,’ I think to myself, but I really have to let her go and spend time with her husband.

As soon as I pull my car into my third favorite parking space near my home, I see that my mom and grandma are waiting for me. ‘What a parent..,’ I say to myself. As soon as my mom sees me, she says, "You look like Miss Macy’s!"
She is referring to my black suits and office shoes, white lining stripe shirts underneath that suit, following the Macy’s dress code. My mom’s words remind me of how much I love this place, Macy’s, where all of my stories are coming from.

In Joy

Friday, October 8, 2010

Ups & Downs

Miss Macy's

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Born

Arranged marriage