Sweet SAVI

Today, I had my interview for the Sexual Assuault and Violence Intervention program at Mt. Sinai. I spent three hours filling out forms, watching the HIPAA video, and participating in a group interview which focused on role playing as well as posing uncomfortable personal questions. The 40 hours of training to follow over several full day weekends will prepare us for monthly 8-hour on-call shifts at 10 hospitals in Manhattan and Queens to serve as advocates for the survivors of intimate sexual violence and assault.

One of my former colleagues at Pfizer Animal Health recognized me and I surprised myself by not fully recognizing her. Even now, I know I knew her but my trusty name/face recognition are faulty in pinpointing past interactions. How can this be?

After the interview, I stepped into the pouring rain. The kind of rain that they create for Bollywood films where heroines in white saris run through the hills bemoaning the loss of their lovers to death, family dissent, and outright theivery. I walked slowly sans umbrella letting the pulse of the storm drip into my bones.

I felt my ornate flip flops sliding and clutched my large, white tote bag closer to my chest. I wondered if this was the Lord's way of bemoaning my loss of control over the good life he'd given me. I was borm with many blessings; I've squandered them. Perhaps it's not all irrevocable but time has been lost and in the accelerated pace of the frenetic desi life I'm behind. Oh so far behind schedule (pronounce it shed-duel for increased Indian effect)--