Kenyandesi – What happened to your 55 ? By the way — I meant to include your name in the list of “shout-outs” I mentioned in my message on the “Season’s Greetings” thread last week — Happy New Year to you. I knew I’d forgotten someone, dammit

okay, I finally had time to read the other 55′s: very nice Jai Singh, as usual, your contribution is clever. Nice work siddharth m! DesiDudeinAustin – cheeky! (sorry). aranyi – I like the detail about the silk. badmash, that’s some serious stuff!

More 55 (sorry for the length ANNA )

A Desi New Year among the cornfields, circa 1982. A Fictionalized Account in multiple 55 word parts.

I. Polly is married to Prem. Every New Year’s Eve they have a party in the party room – a paneled rec room in the basement. Women in saris sit in a row on the davenport, across the room on folding chairs sit a group of men in suits, ties loosened. Music plays from a cassette player.

II. Polly gets up, crosses the room, asks one of the male guests to dance. He declines, with a little embarrassed smile. Defeated, she returns to her side of the room, adjusting her sari. Prem smiles at her across the room and she smiles back, mollified. Prem gets up, crosses the room, and asks his wife to dance.

III. Upstairs, the children (aged 4 to 14) are playing in the living room. The teenagers, aged 12 and 14, sit and watch Dick Clark on television. The 14-year-old has brown fuzz on his upper lip and wears ripped jeans. He’s a rock star, at least to the 12 year old, who adores him.

IV. Outside, a car refuses to start. The air is frigid and empty corn-fields lay silent and snow-covered. Ranch-style houses are arrayed on either side of a street that is straight as a ruler. All the houses have colored lights and Christmas trees in the windows, save one: the house with the party.

I. I remember that New Year’s Eve: Maurizio and I saw a play in Old Town. Theater filled with men and women in good coats. Ancient types with thinning, falling strands of hair, gray on black cloth. It seemed crazy that anyone would age, we were young and the New Year was ours. We owned it.

II. I had dinner with Massimo and his wife in Chicago the following New Year’s eve. I wore shoes that were too tight and my head ached from fake-smiling at the other party-goers. The clock turned, glasses clinked, champagne was drunk, and finally, I left after a quick kiss good-bye. In the cold, I walked.

III. New Year’s Eve (later): I had dinner with Maurizio and friends. We had mussels in garlic. China cups held black shells. We argued. A woman from Germany said, “his love life is his own.” Her vehemence startled, I couldn’t care less. Maurizio caught my eye and winked. Startled, I thought, this is an interesting development.

We will sing in twenty oh-six And bid goodbye to oh-five With bubbly, cheese and Chex-mix. If I get truly pickled, I might even try to jive.

We will ring in twenty oh-six, Wish it works out just fine-y. Sure there’ll be messes to fix - But problems tend to bounce away Like quarters off your heinie.

youÂ’ll find my okra in rich gumbo my saag expressed with collards

my fish wrapped in tortillas with my chilies

for channa black eyed peas, creole auguries

      of fortune

if you come to my table as i wish you would

on new yearÂ’s day.