Happily Unmarried Ever After

THE white dress

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 15:06:22 -0700

You too can own this flower. Just check out www.happilyunmarriedeverafter.com for info.

viveik oberoi

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 18:47:28 -0700

Hunky Viveik Oberoi, shaking his stuff at the Bollywood Movie Awards in Nassau Coliseum, NY

soha ali khan

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 18:45:44 -0700

Soha Ali Khan at the Bollywood Movie Awards, Nassau Coliseum NY

arjun rampal

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 18:43:48 -0700

Arjun Rampal at the Bollywood Movie Awards, Nassau Coliseum

REVELATIONS

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 09:58:55 -0800

When I first started my blog at www.happilyunmarriedeverafter.com, I knew it was going to change my life, but I just could not have guessed in which ways. It has become an invaluable tool in filtering the good and the bad in or out of my life. The responses, or lack thereof, to its powerful message - life is more about a journey than the actual destinations of love, peace and happiness - have helped me to understand my friends, my family and even possible suitors, deeply and completely. But I always find ideas and abstracts quite boring when others write, so I'll be more precise and give examples. There was Menopause Barbie, my friend in her late fifties, so named because of her repeated visits to the plastic surgeon. She had boobs done, faces lifted, cheekbones implanted and botox injected on almost a weekly basis. She claimed her still single status was the result of her own personal choices. She just didn't want to be married. Well, then, she was the PERFECT reader to my blog and should have been excited beyond words when I first started. Instead, she made it a point to avoid any comments on the endeavor, which is always even worse than a few words of criticism. She has since been quietly filtered out of my life, and I have to admit, I don't miss her at all. Truth. Then there was the Gay Divorcee, so named after her marriage to a quite openly gay man fell apart, and she appeared to me a little too interested in starting another romance with a decidedly gay co-worker - of the male persuasion. Anyway, she appeared at first truly excited about my blog, mostly commenting on the great graphics, which I had very little to do with since I hired a professional designer - Inguna Trepsa - whom I will bless forever! OK, I overlooked that and her various comments about how many friends I would make through this blog, which was never my reasonings for writing it anyway. But the breaking point of this ten year or longer "friendship" was when I casually suggested I accompany her to our old boss' opening party for a hip new furnishing store in the Hamptons. Would you believe it that I never heard from Gay Divorcee again? And again, believe me when I say I don't miss her emails with phrases like "I am so envious of you traveling right now" and "it makes me so jealous to know that you can go wherever you want whenever you want"... As Maya Angelou so poignantly writes "when someone tells you who they are, believe them!" I have no place for envy and jealousy in my life. Just as people have shown me their true, dark colors, some of the world's most wonderful people have touched my heart during these last six months. My BFF "A" has stuck by my side and has truly shown me how much she believes in me. Her words of encouragement and her suggestions for marketing the site have not gone unnoticed. My Hindisphere friends, "O", "Y" and "V" have been exceptionally cool and their comments have been priceless. Then there is "V" AKA as "W" - that's our own inside joke! - who posted my site repeatedly on other blogs and I cannot thank her enough. That meant the world to me, especially at the beginning of something that was truly important to my soul. The various individuals who have written something for the site are also high up there in my thoughts and heart. As are those persons whose lives seem to have been touched by my words, enough to write in and thank me. Even just writing about it now makes the little hairs on my arms stand on ends. But finally, there is that dude I met at an airport, traveling back from a lovely time with my BFF. His obvious romantic hopes for me will be shattered when he realizes that not checking out my blog even five days after meeting me, telling me that the title "sounds very bitter, from a marketing standpoint" and admitting that he doesn't like to read so much but would rather watch "football" on TV, makes for bad bedfellows. No chance guy!

Fathers - Great and Small

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 17:58:02 -0700

Just a few thoughts about fatherhood that have been on my mind lately. In less than a week, I have had the chance to come into contact with two exceptional fathers, which has made me even more painfully aware of my own dad's shortcomings. Last Thursday, I had a chance to listen to Orhan Pamuk, the Turkish writer who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2006. He read from "Other Colors: Essays and a Story" his latest book, a collection of recollections from his adult life. Where "Istanbul" dealt with his growing up years and young adulthood, "Other Colors" deals with his thoughts as a mature man, who also happened to be father to an only daughter, as my father was to me. I always thought of myself as an easy daughter, a young woman who made it simple for my dad to love me. I have always been affectionate and loving and quite mature, at all stages of my life. Maybe too mature for my own good, but that is a whole and separate story. My father, on the other hand, is not an easy man. Unlike my mom, who is an artist and therefore difficult, yet caring and brilliant as well which make up for any shortcomngs, my dad was always just a disinterested father. He never remembered anything I would say to him, he didn't want to help with my problems, he always assigned me second place to anything else he had on his plate. I don't remember him ever coming to see me dance, or praising my singing, or even wanting to read what I wrote. I always figured his life was too busy, and maybe I just not interesting enough. But then I heard Mr. Pamuk speak so lovingly of his daughter, reading a whole chapter from his new book dedicated to recounting their experiences together, when she was only 5 years old, and I realized that if at such a young age she could be THAT interesting to a Nobel prize winner, then the problem in my own paternal relationship was my father, not me. I ask myself, could my dad have been jealous of me? Could he have realized just what a complete little person I was and maybe that brought out his own shortcomings, enlarging them into bright neon signs? This past Monday, I met the second of the great dads, Anil Kapoor, the Bollywood superstar. He's also a father, and his daughter has come into her own, starring in "Sawaariya" a movie coming out in November. Here again was a great man, bigger than life, who's been photographed lately gushing proudly at his daughter's premieres. Another exceptional man, another great father, and again, my own father's lack of interest pricked me - albeit like a tiny needle in my arm. You thought I was going to write like a knife through my heart, but really, no. It's not that bad. I have realized through my own journey that my father's shortcomings are just that - HIS. His inability to recognize the only daughter, heck the only child, he ever brought into this world as a jewel, a gift, makes him a little man, a miser who'll never know the pleasure of hearing from his own flesh and blood the words "I admire you, Dad". So the price I have to pay is that I won't hear those words either, but he loses because if you can't make your relationship work with a little being who simply would have kissed the ground you walked on, then you cannot ever feel like a success....

Just What Do I Mean By "Happily Unmarried Ever After"

Thu, 19 Jul 2007 16:33:10 -0700

OK, it seems that most people are misunderstanding the purpose - and therefore the title - of my weekly blog "Happily Unmarried Ever After". I fear this is partly my fault, as the title can be a bit confusing, and my public, apparent serenity for my single status, deceiving. Many months ago, a dear male friend who was at the time telling me the ins and outs of his romantic life and how it was all not leading him to where he wanted to be (down the aisle, at the altar - YES girls! Some men want that also!!) blurted out something that shocked me. "You don't want to get married anyway, because you want to be happily unmarried ever after!" It hit me then, my self assurance and now my blog, they were actually giving people - including my innermost circle of friends - the wrong idea. That's the day I changed the ending to my book and clarified my stance on the matter. But I never took it any further, thinking my written work would speak for me and explain it all. Unfortunately, it still hasn't had a chance to do so. So, last night, a friend who has recently come into my life was trying to justify to me the lack of support from some of my other acquaintances, regarding my website, which is so dear to me. She was answering my complaints that some people have chosen to be painfully silent about my personal achievements. "Well, our Hindi teacher is probably thinking this is a phase, since all women end up getting married eventually" and further "your friend is probably thinking this is a personal attack on her, since she is in her late 50s and single and you named the website after her 'condition'." Hum... OK, my blog isn't really a phase, because even if/when I end up finding a wonderful man to share my life with, I still am going to be the same woman, writing out my thoughts the same way and making time for playing with my girlfriends whenever he and I agree it's cool to do so. I am not being a feminist and I am not married to the idea of being unmarried (pardon the pun!) I am simply giving a voice to those of us who actually enjoy the journey as much as the actual destination. We are those women who don't wait for a date to enjoy a Saturday night on the town and don't mind buying ourselves flowers and candy for Valentine's Day. That is not a phase, it's who I am, always have been, always will be. And regarding my friend who might have taken the blog as a personal affront, I doubt it. It is quite clearly about me - photos of me plastered on every page, my favorite goddess looking over it all and my VERY personal adventures and tales decorating, in writing, the whole thing. So, here I go, one more time, for those who may have misunderstood me or weren't really paying attention. Enjoy my blog and read it lightly, because ultimately it is an invitation for all - single and romantically involved - to have fun. My writing should help you shrug off the negative comments of nay-sayers who think it's OK to ask why you aren't married yet. It should also guide you to accept that life is always an amazing gift, even if a great partner isn't going the distance with us and to make sure that if the right person comes along, you are smart enough to recognize their worth because of your wisdom and experience. So you see, mine is not a phase nor a principle, nor a dare, but rather a survival skill...

The Bollywood Movie Awards and ... some wisdom on the side

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 18:36:52 -0700

Two weekends ago, I spend some fantastic twenty-four hours with my friend Karishma. You will recognize her name from my site, where she is a frequent contributor to "The Friend's Corner". Early Saturday afternoon of Memorial weekend, I took a train from Penn Station to join K and her Trinidadian Hindu family at Nassau Coliseum for the "Bollywood Movie Awards". This was to be an affair bestudded with my favorite Hindi film industry Hunks and Hunkettes. Bipasha Basu - the woman responsible for most of modern day's global warming (she's that HOT!), Arjun Rampal - a fantastic looking ex model turned actor who acted in one of my alltime fave films "Ek Ajnabee", Ragav - a Canadian/Indian singer responsible for the hit "Angel Eyes", a smooth ditty on a hard reggae beat, and finally Vivek Oberoi - a dashing, smooth cutie with good moves and looks, whom I am known to jokingly refer to as "my husband". It never hurts to dream! Awards were handed out to, among others, director Mira Nair, Soha Ali Khan and even Danny Glover, for his lifetime work in charity and the movies. It was awfully suspicious that the only people receiving any awards were those who just happened to be present (and most dancing!) but such is the game in Bollywood. The title "Award" stands - misleadingly - for Tour or Show. Although I expected endless plugs for local businesses and obscure personalities of the local Indian community to interrupt my entertainment pleasure, I was proven wrong and ended up enjoying myself immensely, dancing in my seat and singing along with the hits. For photo highlights, click on the photo link, here on Virb. After our night of pure entertainment, the morning after was filled with great wisdom and life lessons. With Karishma, we went to visit her grandfather Papa, a 92 year old wonder, who does not look a year over seventy. Despite some recent health issues, Papa still reads daily - without glasses - and can reason just about anything and everything. He finally explained to me, in the most simple and understandable way, the basic significance of the third eye: "Nina, you know, we are all born with three eyes; two we use to see what is around us. The third is what allows us to see what is not in front of us at the moment. If, right now, you think of your own home, you can imagine all the furniture and see it as if you are there, no?! That's the third eye, allowing you to clearly "see" what is not seen by your two other eyes". BRILLIANT! About our purpose on earth: "Well, there are two purposes for us humans to be here: one is for us to take care of the soul that has been bestowed to us in this lifetime and the second is to DO through actions. But in both cases, we have the option to go wrong, by not nourishing the soul while it is with us and in our actions, where we can choose to do right or to do wrong. That's our life choice." Finally, I will leave you with another of Papa's pearls of wisdom: "The Hands that Help are Holier than the Lips that Pray."

Richard Serra at the MoMA - NYC

Sun, 03 Jun 2007 18:08:38 -0700

This past weekend, I went to the opening reception for the Richard Serra exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC, with my glamorous mom, who is a member of the museum. I was fortunate enough to read up the review that ran in the NY Times a day earlier, so I was prepared for what I was about to see and not totally clueless. I hate to admit it, but even though I am the daughter of an artist and a paintings' restorer, I was not familiar - before this show - with the kind of work Mr. Serra has done. The show turned out to be amazing. His work is larger than life and I even realized, thanks to the Times article, that the piece that has intrigued me so much on previous visits to the MoMA - the large walled labyrinth-like roads made out of steel that lead to the outdoors espresso bar in the garden - is Mr. Serra's work. The invitation read "Cocktail Attire" and I dressed in my lovely DKNY black ballet dress. You can check out a photo taken in the midst of Mr. Serra's work in the garden on my Flickr account. The crowd was definitely in the "average over 50" category, but the outfits ranged from a gold, Mad Max/fake armadillo jacket paired with black odalisk pants, to a completely beige ensemble, which included matching hair, skintone, make-up and pillbox hat. The only non-beige item were the Manolo lime green shoes, worn under trembling ankles. The men - it is always an easier choice for them - came wearing suits, but there were a few standouts, such as the anorexic South Indian wearing all black and converse high tops and the chubby 60-something in bermuda shorts, hiked all the way up to his chest. Mom and I took a seat at one of the small tables on the second level and people watched to our heart's content, while sipping an incredibly strong but tasty California Chardonnay. Never one to shy away from admiring cute men, I noticed a Kiefer Sutherland look-like, behaving very Jack Bauer from "24" - complete with a wrist walkie-talkie and an ear piece. As most who know me are made painfully aware, Mr. Sutherland is my absolute ideal of a man. I like his cowboy style and I love his TV character's strength, resolve and quick thinking in the face of adversity. The personable dirty blond man at the museum turned out to be a coordinator/security for the party and, by far, the handsomest man there. I owe to him most of the enjoyment of my evening, as I spent wide chunks of time looking around for him and making flirtatious eye contact. Once we were done with the drinking and people watching - maybe with one Chardonnay too many under our belts - mom and I went to look at the sculptures in the large rooms on the second floor, which were conceived by the MoMA's old - now deceased - curator and were specifically designed to house Mr. Serra's pieces when the museum went through massive renovation. After having walked in and out of these massive and dramatic works of art, we went to the garden and walked through our favorite piece there once more, taking pictures like tourists. I adore the fact that the people at MoMA are not stuck up about photography. One is allowed to discretely take pictures anywhere one's little heart desires. There is a wonderful, architectural and textured look to the Serra sculptures. And although he was born in San Francisco, his work is very New York. The one question I was left with is "Where does he have the space to put these pieces together?" If someone has the answer, please enlighten me. I can only imagine that his backyard is not the same size as mine?! All in all, a fantastic evening, thanks to interesting outfits, wonderful sculpture and the occasional VERY cute man.

Are There Really Any Accidents?

Mon, 14 May 2007 15:54:54 -0700

Recently, I was involved in a pretty serious car crash. My mom and I were passengers in the back of a taxi, in a remote location of the world. The last thing I remember thinking was that the driver was driving way too fast and I could smell alcohol in the car. Then, the last thing I saw was a car approaching us from the left, followed almost immediately by the last thing I heard - the horrific screaching of breaks giving out on the damp pavement. When I woke up, my head felt like it would burst from the pain and my mother was lying in my lap, her head resting on my thighs, her full hair covering her face. I tried to wake her up, she was unresponsive, and I continued to scream for help, for an ambulance, for someone to wake up from the daze we all were in. I started to notice that there was more than one car piled into the driver's side of our taxi. I also noticed our driver just starting to regain consciousness. I could see the petrified looks on everyone's face around us because of my screams and cries for help. I alternately would try to wake up my mom and hold my head to try and calm my own pain. I felt around the scull for blood, but it all seemed to be still in one piece. Then, I moved my mother's hair to see if she was bleeding, but she was unscratched also. The thick windshield glass was all over her clothing. "Mommie, mommie, mommie!" I kept screaming, not knowing what else to say. Then, slowly, my mother started to answer my cries and when I asked her how she felt she said "fine, why?" When I asked her why she was lying down like that, she told me quite sure of herself "I am just relaxing a little..." I guess when one asks a stupid question, one gets a stupid answer, right?! Funny, the things one says and remembers in a moment like that. After it was all said and done, we walked away with bruises, some more serious than others, but completely WHOLE. We walked away from an accident that could have been... Well, I will stop trying to see the alternate outcomes for it - one minute later, one second earlier, two feet's distance to the left, etc. The challenge for me has been to try and figure out WHY. I simply cannot accept that it was all for nothing, that our trip was ruined for nothing, that our plans were destroyed for nothing, that we got all banged up for nothing. Nothing is just simply an accident. I realized, through the calm and silence that I needed to come back to being to my own self - in the days following the accident - that I had become complacent before the crash. I had grown used to having my good life, my great friends, my amazing mother, my interesting job. I wasn't thankful anymore for the birds in the trees, the sun in the sky, the great people I meet every day in the most mundane of circumstances, the magic that surrounds my existence. It is a cliche that when people have a near death or tragic experience they come back smelling the flowers and loving life. It hasn't been so dramatic for me, but I do realize that the message for me was to stop worrying about getting it all done now, and understand that things which are worth having and doing and accomplishing will always wait for the right moment. Whatever cannot be done today, can be picked up tomorrow. And that maybe it is true that when it is time for us to go, we go.