There are certain laws of ettiquette which we as a society must obide by. More often than not they are simple rules which if they are broken all mayhem will break loose. For example, don't shoot other people. Don't steal things. Don't wear brown shoes with a black belt. Don't tell someone who offers to buy you french fries "no it's okay, I'm not hungry" and then ask to share their fries when they get it. If someone lets you merge in front of you in traffic you MUST give them the small wave/hand of acknowledgement; failure to do so pisses people off. It pisses off good people. Decent people. People like me.
All of this which leads me to the latest anecdone of my life. With my mom in town and a Sunday dinner finished what better way of capping of the night then going for her first round of hookah. If life were a Super Mario Brothers game, mom won infinite cool points. The only problems were the fact that her technique was a little bit lacking (she exhaled into the pipe instead of inhaling) and she didn't fully follow the two puffs and pass ettiquette....hence the long drawn out opening to this post.
I don't really have any deep thoughts or drawn out thoughts about how this simple event defines the Indian diaspora, so I'll just leave it at that. As Roger Federer would say, "I go with mom and have time fun, then I write in blog."