MATTERS OF FACT by Mala Dewan

I love being the first person into a movie theatre before the commencement of a chick flick. I enjoy watching the herds of women strolling up the steps with their fat free frozen yogurt and eager faces, waiting for the big screen to zoom in on the catch of the century.I believe Stephen King was the one who said people love going to the movies because it allows them to pay a visit to their subconscious mind, be active participants in thoughts they would never materialize themselves.

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It’s eleven PM on a Sunday night and I’m cruising down highway 40 when the driver tailgating me flashes his high beams and cuts me off at a dangerously fast speed, all the while flipping me the “finger”. I stand patiently in line at the bank while the lady ahead of me verbally abuses the teller simply because she has spent the last five precious minutes of her time waiting for service. Even during dinner, while on vacation, I’m forced to listen to the shriek of a woman who has just discovered that she cannot be served at the beach grill because it is full from reservations made by other guests earlier that day.

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While flipping through the pages of the latest iStyle magazine I’m interrupted by a slue of disgruntled sighs. “How do I look?” my friend, Asha, asks with a tone indicating her dissatisfaction with my response before I even have a chance to answer. We’ve spent the last two hours in her quaint downtown apartment dividing our time between sipping on Soho/Cranberry cocktails and preparing ourselves aesthetically for a night out on the town. “You look beautiful”, I answer, she frowns and re-enters the bathroom. The truth is that she does look beautiful. No matter where she goes or what she’s doing. Asha always manages to carry with her an aura of style and sophistication. Add this to her stimulating intellect and I’d have to admit that she exudes quite the engaging presence. Still, she chooses to overlook the sincerity in my words, allowing herself to come to the conclusion that she just isn’t good enough. Like most second generation South Asian women my age, I can see that her frustration doesn’t solely stem from the fact that her hips are sightly more curvaceous that desired but rather, that in the eyes of most of the second generation South Asian men who we’re about to run into at tonight’s hot spot, she would not be considered “husband-worthy” or “marriage material” as I’ve heard numerous times by male counterparts.

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