Chapter 4: The Enthu-cutlets & their selfless selfies

Two years and a couple of female dramas later, I had now officially upgraded from being a Yangon newcomer to a more seasoned member of the Yangon social circles. I was no longer a coffee morning virgin and had even hosted my fair share of ladies lunches, potlucks and coffee get-togethers. Not to brag, but by now the walls of my house too were resplendent with expensive paintings and exquisite antique cabinets, adorned my foyer. I had already mastered the perfect pose for all my Facebook posts and the air kisses came to me as naturally as the familiar desi namaste. 

It’s once you have made this transition into an elite veteran of the social club, you encounter a rather ‘rare’ variety of over enthusiastic, over perky, ‘the oh-so-eager to please category of newbies aka the Enthu-Cutlets.  The reason I say rare is because they simply are, majority of the others being caught up in some kind of a rat-race to fit into the A list, each trying to out-do the other be it in terms of their designer outfits or simply by the expansiveness of their private parties. These enthu-cutlets are  however a little different with no desire to be or outshine the ‘It-crowd’. Their only desire is simply to please, hover around the A-listers like a swarm of bees and torture you with their over-enthusiasm and excessive flattery.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for a lil zeal & zest in life and like any other girl, I too am all for adulation as long as it comes in mild or at least tolerable doses. These guys will not only suffocate you with their over-compliments but will get over-excited about everything under the sun, hoard your messenger window with every possible emoji available and irritate the hell out of you. 

I had my very first encounter at a friend’s birthday party. Nothing out of the ordinary happened and what followed were the formal introduction, courteous hellos and the mandatory small-talks. Our conversations where more-or-less the mundane, ranging from the weather in Yangon and list of your goto markets in downtown to your kids school and activities at the country club. Even when she enthusiastically asked me for my fb profile name, I wasn't the tad-bit surprised. Firstly, it had almost become the norm to add each other on Facebook even before you knew each other’s surname and secondly she was new and I was more than willing to help out in case she needed any. 

What did surprise me however was the overwhelming number of fb messages that awaited me when I returned home. A few hours ago she hadn't even known how to pronounce my name right but somehow in a matter of few hrs, I had magically migrated from Ash to sweetheart, dear, darling and what not. That wasn’t it. Believe it or not, but a picture of the both of us taken at the party now remained splattered on her timeline with the caption YANGON BESTIES.  Huh? What did she say her kids names were again? 

Anyway by next day, I had received an invitation to have lunch with her at the country club. In the quest and hope of still finding a true friend, I happily obliged. “She seemed nice,” I thought. Though in my heart I wondered if we had anything, at all in common. 

Now now now... how do I even describe the two hour that entailed. Let me just say that if the following hours were ever to be made into a movie, it would probably be called, ‘The extraordinary life of Miss Ash.’ Not only every possible adjective was used to describe me and my fascinating life but I couldn't hep but wonder if she had any view of her own at all. 

“Yes Ash, you are absolutely right.”

“Yes Ash, I agree completely.”

“Wow Ash…you are so right.”

“Yes Ash…exactly Ash…true true Ash.”

I could have sworn in the peak of summer that it was chilly and she would have eagerly nodded along and happily agreed. There were times I even wondered if she was paying any attention. Anyway the many lunches and coffee sessions that followed were equally excruciating; the over flattery, the never-ending whatsapp messages and conversations sounding almost like old broken records. What was worse were the innumerable selfie sessions that accompanied these painful rendezvous. 

“Let’s take one by the new painting.”

“Wow the view is so nice, let’s take a selfie.”

“Your hair is so gorgeous today…we have to take a picture dear.”

“Is this a new dress…that definitely deserves a selfie…”

To cut a long agonizing story short, the only good thing that came out of this acquaintance…

It actually made my miss my playdate moms.

Chapter 3: Coffee mornings & Air-kisses

Coffee mornings...for those new to the concept, allow me to elaborate. Coffee mornings at the expat club is not your regular visit to a local barista, ordering your cappuccino and nibbling on your banana muffin while getting acquainted with a new friend. Oh no! Attending a coffee morning here is a ritual in itself and might require way more commitment than hitting a nearby coffee shop and knowing what kind of coffee you’d like to drink.

You see, the coffee mornings here are broadly classified into two main categories. The first one and the more generic is the one hosted every month either by the estate that you live in, by expat clubs and other women’s associations. Open for all the newly added expat members, this one may have over 50-60 women, all squeezed up into a country club lobby or any other elite coffee lounge in the city. It may appear casual but trust me its what you call a battlefield and not to be taken lightly. It’s a war zone and here you will be judged on matters ranging from what you wear to your husband’s job title and where you live. Are you the CEO spouse category, marketing and finance head spouse category or just a regular employee spouse category? And that’s not all…you will be judged on the basis of whether you are the villa with the pool category, the fancy serviced apartment category or a condo in downtown category? 

Once that has been determined and you have met/cleared all the required criteria, you will then be initiated into the more elite, private and invitation-only coffee circles. Often held at the hostesses home, these coffee mornings are probably nothing less than a mini wedding reception often involving outdoor catering and even dress codes. 

Now have you ever wondered what it would be like to walk into one of those fancy Pinterest boards, you diligently follow online? Well it’s pretty much the same feeling you get while attending one of these elaborate and exclusive coffee sessions.  I still remember my very first time. I had never met this lady before, but somehow had received an invitation to what can only be described as the crème de la crème of all coffee mornings. I must have had a decent FB page I suppose but whatever the reason, I magically found a place in her fancy guest list and got invited to one of her eventful and much talked about coffee gathering. 

Fortunately I was having a great hair day and had chosen a newly bought sundress to wear to the occasion. I had never been to one of these and the innumerable pictures I had seen on Facebook couldn't have prepared me for what was about to entail. I was welcomed rather graciously with the mandatory air kiss (Ref chapter 1) by the hostess and before I could even get a sneak-peek into her lovely home and even decide whether I was to take off my shoes or not, I was dragged into what can be only be called a photo-taking frenzy. 

We were about 15 ladies, many I had never even met before. But before I could even say hi and get their names right, I was asked to pose this way, that way, how about one with the food, one with the above 30’s group, one with the below 30’s group… I was even asked to pose in front of her newly bought painting as it was about to make its grand first appearance in her fb post and I couldn’t help but wonder if the 3000$ painting was the reason behind this abrupt coffee get-together. The hostess even decided who I was to team up with for the picture. Though I had only just walked in with a good friend and would have liked to have my photo taken with her rather than someone I barely knew…I was told it wasn’t a good idea as our heights didn't match and the color of our outfits’ clashed significantly.

If the photo session wasn't exhausting and brain-numbing enough, what followed was the innumerable air-kisses with these random strangers. What can only be described as the expat way of saying hi, is one of the most time consuming and arduous part of any elite club luncheon or coffee morning as apparently no one shake hands anymore. A total of 30 kisses to be exact were exchanged (15 women times 2 kisses on either cheek-bringing the grand total to 30) before we could grab our much-needed doze of caffeine.

The surprising part is that in the last three years of my stay in Myanmar, I would have attended at least a minimum of 20 or even more coffee mornings, not including the ladies luncheons, formal dinners and other social events… all a regular feature in the Yangon expat circles.  I would have met these very same women over and over again. We would have all made our appearances several times in each others fb posts and been tagged over and over again in our timeline photos taken at innumerable gatherings. We would have been spotted together, referring to each other as dear and what not and smiling, laughing and complimenting each others’ outfits & unique sense of style. But how much did we really know each other? I guess now that’s one question we just can’t air kiss our way out of…

CHAPTER 2: THE MOMZILLA

There are a total of just 11 kids in my daughter’s class, majority being boys with just four other girls, all mainly from Chinese or Burmese backgrounds. Those familiar with the typical South-East Asian kids are well aware that they usually run a rather tight study schedule. School is often followed by Math & Mandarin tuitions, piano lessons and art classes leaving them with absolutely no time for playdates or playmates. 

My daughter and I had officially been banished from the mommy and me playgroup and planning any kind of after-school activities with her classmates had almost become impossible considering their hectic timetables. It was  only then a new expat family moved into the estate. My daughter and I were beyond ecstatic because this family had a little girl just my daughter’s age. And they weren't Asian which meant no Chinese tuitions, Kumon  classes and harsh after-school schedules. 

I wasted absolutely no time in inviting them over and giving them a taste of my Indian hospitality comprising ginger chai and my famous bread pakoras. Very soon we were meeting every day. Her daughter spend almost every evening with us and most of weekends too having sleepovers and enjoying pajama parties. It didn't even bother me one bit that they hadn’t invited my family over even once. I didn't care and wasn't going to let something so petty come in the way of our wonderful and meaningful friendship. ‘It’s just a different culture.’ I (The same, me who created that whole drama over women not taking turns to host their share of playdates) justified to my daughter when asked why she wasn’t ever being invited over for a playdate at theirs. “There are no such formalities between close friends,” I told her. 

I was happy. My daughter was happy and that was all that mattered. I was laughing again, being myself and lounging around by the pool with my new found friend sipping Mojitos while our little ones splashed around. Even our husbands got along well, which was rather rare. 

I don’t even remember the number of mutton chops grilled and wine bottles opened to entertain our new found friends. Unfortunately the romance vanished almost as quickly as the bottles of cabernet in our mini bar. It all started to go downhill when my new found friend made a plan to go to the zoo. Yes the zoo and who knew something as harmless and innocent like a trip to the zoo was going to be the reason for my months and months of severe migraine and sleepless nights. A few of the other kids too got included in the plan and a sunny Sunday morning was decided as the D-day for our little picnic. 

Just a day before the big day, the other kids-mind you on their own, got chatty about their little picnic plan and suggested it was better to go to an amusement park instead. They all had been to the zoo and the thought of rollercoasters and bumper cars sounded way more fun. My daughter too got excited and said she too would prefer the amusement park instead.

And I did what any other mom in my place would have done. Send a text asking if we should change the plan to go to the amusement park as the majority preferred it to the zoo. Now like they say… hell hath no fury like a mother scorned, my seemingly harmless suggestion got this momzilla to completely flip out. I was told off immediately for crushing her daughter’s dreams. Somehow we became the traitors who screwed them over for a better offer. Though I knew I had not done anything wrong and that my daughter would be heartbroken when I told her we weren't going to the park with the other kids, I did what I do every time to get out any sticky situations, I apologized my way out of this one too. I packed the best possible picnic lunch, Pinterest style, consoled my sobbing daughter, promising her that I would take her to the rollercoasters another day and set off to the zoo. 

However me showing up with my best smile and my best cheese and ham sandwiches was just not enough to pacify this momzilla. She was pissed and my 7 year old constantly trying to sell the amusement park idea, despite my constant eye-rolling and head wobbling didn't help ease the situation either. There was even a time when the lady got so livid, she asked her driver to stop the car and asked my little one to get out and get her own ride to the amusement park. That should have been my moment, to put all that ghee, I had been consuming since I was a little girl to some good use and slap that smirk right off her face. But did I?? No I didn’t.

I continued as if nothing had ever changed between us until one day, the eventful day I would like to call the final nail in the coffin. I received an email from the same momzilla regarding a minor altercation between the girls. Now these two were best friends and just like any girls their age, they too had their share of good days and bad. They too had their share of laughs and drama. A normal mom would probably leave it alone and let the girls figure this one out. But oh no! Not the momzilla. So what does the momzilla do…?? What she does best. Be obnoxious launching lame threats at me and my little one. Apparently my daughter had made fun of her child's missing tooth and you would think that my constant apologies and assurance that something like this may never happen again would have settled the situation. But this momzilla was on a rampage and their was no calming her this time. 

My seven year old was called a bully and I was called a bad parent for not teaching my kid some good manners. She went on and on. What she did not probably realize was that I too was a mom and that a momzilla in me lay dormant somewhere deep within. There was only so much of her bad-mouthing my little one, I was going to take at this point. Now I would have liked to walk up there and give her a sneak-peek into how dreadful the momzilla within me could be but instead I did the next best thing. I deleted her from my Facebook and my life. An online adieus was all I need to shut this one up once and for all. 

CONFESSIONS OF AN EXPAT HOUSEWIFE

Prelude

The idea of this blog came a few days ago when I was at the gym. The stats on the elliptical showed that I had already burnt 150 calories but I had barely even noticed it. Possibly cos I was busy chit-chatting about a certain someone and her infamous fb posts. I had sworn that come 2017 and I wasn't going to utter a word about anyone behind their backs. I was going to be a good girl and I had sworn that there was no way I was going to end up like the other  kitty party aunties that I had encountered, back in my Delhi days. ‘No more gossips & no more tittle-tattle,’ I had told myself. 

But for anyone who has been a stay-at-home expat wife, knows very well that, that is something, almost impossible to do. First and foremost we, the so called expat housewives are all scrunched up into a location where there ain't much to do. (Let's admit it, there is only so much of pagodas and local markets one can see in a lifetime). And secondly most of us barely even need to lift our own grocery bags let alone do our own laundry or wash our own dirty dishes. We all are blessed with a minimum of at least two helpers and who are we kidding here with all those 'oh- I’m so busy with all my charity work' (or in my case blogging) nonsense. Let's just kiss that aside for a second and admit once and for all that we, or at least most of us are completely jobless. 

Still I wasn't liking that a considerable portion of my day was being spent talking about people who barely had any role to play in my day-to-day existence and the second half feeling guilty for speaking out the same. Moreover I was only 34…way… way too young to fit into the kitty party aunty club anyway. So that’s when the idea of this blog popped up. This way, it will no longer be gossiping/ back-bitching or whatever it is you may call it  cos well now it's all out in the open and secondly I will somehow be paying homage to all these wonderful characters who have made life for me highly entertaining here.   

Statutory warning 

All characters and plots appearing in the next couple of pages are so not fictional and are as real as it can be. (Though few might have been exaggerated a tad-bit for amusement purposes). Any resemblance that you may feel is probably because you must have been in the exact same situations or you, yourself might have been ‘it’. I understand, that just like every other story has a different side to it, I am sure my version has one too. Unfortunately this is my blog and I am the one writing it. That being said, I sincerely apologize in advance if this ruffles a few feathers the wrong way. Idea is not to hurt, condemn or criticize. This blog is purely for fun and should be read/shared for entertainment purposes only. 

CHAPTER 1: PLAYDATE PANDEMONIUM

 

‘Play date!’ A concept I was no stranger to. All thanks to my two year stint in Washington DC. One of the easiest ways to get your little one to make  new friends while slowly building your very own social circle. So I was only more than happy when one of the ladies next door introduced me to a mommy and me playgroup. Voila! A way to keep my little one entertained and my ticket to making some new friends.

Playgroups or this particular one I was introduced to here were a tad bit different from the ones I was used to back in DC.  While the ones in the US needed to be planned and noted down at least weeks prior, in ones calendar  and included a child being dropped off and picked up just a few hours later, these once were fixed, recurring and way way more elaborate. Every Tuesdays & Thursdays, a group of 7-8 ladies along with their helpers and minimum of 2-3 toddlers per mom, taking the toll to a shocking 32 members, met up in a designated house apparently decided by a specific and well-drawn out roster. And that was not the only extensive part, the menu drawn out to feed these tiny-tots itself were more elaborate than I had ever seen in any birthday party back in the US, where a plain margarita pizza and few cupcakes were all that one needed for an epic birthday bash. But not here amidst the elite expat housewives. 

The long teak dining tables were adorned with home-baked butter croissants, freshly baked banana muffins, extensive fruit bouquets cos apparently just dumping it all in a bowl is so bourgeois and star shaped blueberry pancakes (coz God forbid if you serve them in the cliched circle-shape). I felt glad that I still had a few weeks before my shipment arrived. ‘Enough time to master the art of baking, learn to create at least one fruit bouquet and skillfully organize the perfect play date, Yangon style! I would do just fine.’ Or so I thought. 

Now I will be honest, one of the main reasons why I even decided to be a part of this playgroup despite my (then) 6 year old constantly reminding me that she was way too old to be hanging around with a bunch of three year olds was coz I was desperate to make friends. After moving three locations, I was well aware that it was the only way to survive any posting.  Now you would think that since you are meeting these women every Tuesday and Thursday, a total of 8 times in a month and 92 times if you take a year (More time than I spent with my parents annually), you would assume it would soon blossom into some kind of a meaningful friendship where we will all become besties and form some kind of an unbreakable bond of sisterhood and what not. This was going to be magical and ‘oh-so easy’ especially for me cos I was good at making friends. If I could make lifetime friendships with complete strangers while waiting for my train at the metro station or on the road walking to my daughter’s school in a place like DC, charming these Myanmar ladies was going to be a piece of cake. Well not quite!

Despite our frequent rendezvous I was amazed that our conversations barely went beyond how was your day to are you liking Yangon and the tedious air kisses* (*the art of kissing someone without touching mainly to avoid smudging of makeup. More on it in the following chapters). I doubt if anyone even knew which part of India I belonged to and how I pronounced my full name. There were also times when it was only me, a bunch of nannies and whiny toddlers at these playdates as the moms were busy with other social commitments. 

It was in one of these occasions, the very first playdate pandemonium erupted. The Tingyan holidays were on and many had travelled to their home countries for the long ten-day break. I being a complete playdate amateur assumed since there was hardly anyone here, I wouldn't have to host the playdate although the name in the weekly roster, had mine written on it in bold letters. I conveniently cancelled and decided to take my kid to the pool instead. When I returned what awaited me was an array of Whatsapp messages from one particular mom, the only one apart from me that hadn't gone away for the holidays, telling me how I had not followed the roster and that it was extremely impolite of me to have cancelled at such short notice. The email didn’t end there. Somehow I had hurt her three year olds feelings as the little one was so looking forward to it all week to visit her Aunty Ash and what not. I could have sworn that the kid barely recognized me when I saw her cycling just the previous day and is it even possible for a three year old to know exactly what day of the week it is and that it is her so-called Aunty Ash’s turn to host when she can barely tell her alphabets apart? Boy! That kid sure must be some kind of a genius if u ask me. Anyway after a few really shallow apologies…(my one stop solution to get out of any dramatic situation) we air-kissed our way through this little bump and moved on.

The second drama unfolded rather soon, courtesy me, yet again, when I  decided to add a few friends of my daughters age to the playgroup. If  I was going to go through all the trouble of frying pakoras and baking cookies and hosting playdates for kids my girl hardly even played with, it was only fair that I add a few of her real friends. So that’s what I did and our group got a little bigger with the addition of a few 6 year olds. Now remember the roster, the one that thou shall not dishonor, come what may. Apparently following the changes, the moms designated in the first place to uphold its integrity, slowly decided to back out from their hosting responsibilities. Now don’t get me all wrong, they still ended up coming to every single one hosted by me, devouring my aalo samosas and savory pakoras with the same intensity and vigor. They simply refused to host when it was their turn. Now I had upgraded from being a playdate amateur to a more permanent member or even a veteran to some extend and when you are amongst a handful of the newly added moms hosting every Tuesday and Thursday, it gets a bit much. 

So I too send out the mandatory email calling on the other non-hosting pakora-devouring moms asking them to host as well. And that’s what lead to playdate pandemonium number 2 aka the grand finale. What followed was a series of never-ending chain mails. Some suggesting that they though absolutely unemployed till only the previous week had somehow, all of a sudden become bombarded with way too many social commitments leaving them with absolutely no time to host the little munchkins and others complaining that their 4 bedroom luxurious villas in the estate were way too small to host the 6 year olds. To cut a long dramatic email short, the group was split. The little ones & mommy group and the 6 year olds & Mommy stinker group. And out went my dream of forming long-lasting bonds, friendships to last a lifetime and what not. In short what a utterly and complete waste of my bread pakoras…

CHAPTER 2 (Coming soon)...THE MOMZILLA