the star

The days since taking home my car (I still haven't named her; I liked the Esme suggestion, though I prefer the full Esmerelda, but it just doesn't seem right) have been difficult ones. One of my best friends in town moved away, another is leaving, and another still may be leaving the office (and maybe even more). On top of that, my godmother died back home, and on the same day, a cousin out here in California also died. They passed within hours of each other. My first trip in the new car was to drive to a wake. I was there when the family first saw the body. The husband nearly collapsed on the coffin, the children wailed and cried. They hugged each other almost as if to keep themselves standing. I left the room.

I called my cousin "aunt," which is pretty common in my family if the cousin is older. I never spent a whole lot of time with her, but the time I did was great. She had a great sense of humor, and she was really kind. My godmother--my mother's sister--was very important to me. She went into a coma and passed away a few days later. She was one of the few who still called me. She even sent me birthday cards. The last time I saw her was at my sister's wedding, and I also called to wish her a happy mother's day. She'd been in and out of the hospital for a while. At my cousin's wake, the family expressed their sympathy for me. I wasn't able to get a flight back east. My mom asked me to go to Napa to pay respects in her place. I probably would've gone even if she hadn't asked.

I've been pretty out of it the past couple weeks. Everything that's been going on has been pretty overwhelming; it was just a whole lot at once. I've been mailing it in at work... I haven't been able to concentrate. I watch a lot of baseball scores and blog on my magazine's site and send a few e-mails or make some phone calls. I feel like I'm slacking--probably because I am.

But tonight was good. My roommates, a couple of friends and I drove about half-an-hour south of here to grab Indian food at this smaller town with a large Sikh population. I'd never actually had Indian food before, but everyone up here has a pretty big hard-on for it. Telling people I never tried it before was met with the same fear and suspicion as my admission that I hate avocado (I mean, really, it's gross). But I like Thai cuisine a lot, and I heard Indians use a lot of lamb, so I figured there was a good chance I'd like Indian. Plus I'm always down for a road trip.

The restaurant we went to was called Star of India, not to be confused with Taste of India, which was also in the same town. A couple of things tipped me off that the place would be good. First, an Indian friend of one of my dinner buddies said the place was the real deal. Second, the parking lot was packed. Third, we were the only white people in the restaurant. To top it off, they were hosting a party for a couple of high school graduates, so not only were we the overwhelming minority, but everyone there also knew each other. I would've felt really out of place if the owner of the restaurant--a man who looked kinda younger than I imagined his true age would dictate--wearing a red turban and dark bushy beard, came to greet us at the door with firm handshakes. He said he had a table for us, and gave us menus and water.

I drank two Dansberg beers, which the bottle claimed were made with Himalayan water, and they were really good. Then my samosas came out, and they were awesome. Later came the main course--lamb korma--along with steaming plates of basmati rice and naan. The sauce was so rich, and the level of spices were so complex, they kinda confused me, but god it was good.

Meanwhile, the party was reaching its peak. After the graduates gave a speech, the music began to blare. It was loud the whole time we were there, but now it was amazingly so. A DJ cranked music with male and/or female vocalists hollering passionately in a language I don't understand and dudes with drums, who were there at the party, pounded out infectious beats. When I walked past the party, women in bright colored dresses whirled together in a tight-knit group, and the men danced outside their circle. There was drums, whistling, screaming, stomping, clapping. At one point the partition that separated the general dining area from the private party rattled loudly. We turned to see a man peek over the top.

"Sorry about that," he said. "We're just a bunch of drunk Hindus."