{"id":4799,"date":"2007-10-18T19:15:39","date_gmt":"2007-10-19T00:15:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com?p=4799"},"modified":"2007-10-18T20:50:04","modified_gmt":"2007-10-19T01:50:04","slug":"on_feeling_extr_2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/2007\/10\/18\/on_feeling_extr_2\/","title":{"rendered":"On Feeling *Extra* Brown This Afternoon"},"content":{"rendered":"

After finally deciphering and then completing the most challenging assignment I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had yet, I grabbed my badge and headed out. I wanted to take a little walk\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I deserved<\/em> to\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I was done two hours before I expected to be and I felt a tiny sense of \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Victory is mine<\/a>!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d because of it. Since I had skipped lunch, now was the perfect time to get some fresh air (and look for turning leaves). Once outside, I realized that today was the the day for our weekly Farmer\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Market. This made me mindful of how there were a finite number of Thursdays left before the weather would end the charming gathering of, oh, all of a dozen artisans and farmers, and that made me determined to appreciate everything even more. Excessive positivity (and the relief which blissfully arrives after meeting a deadline) inspired my lame ankle to try for whatever spring in my step I could muster. This was going to be nice.\"he<\/p>\n\n

I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t looking for groceries, I was in search of a treat. I immediately recognized one when I saw a baker and his assistant arranging a decadent array of breads, scones, brownies, muffins and best of all\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6cookies. If I could list \u00e2\u20ac\u0153home-made cookies\u00e2\u20ac\u009d under my interests, I would. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153C is for cookie, that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s good enough for me\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, indeed. I spotted apple cinnamon, oatmeal raisin\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6then a few dozen peanut butter appeared\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6and then something which I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t visually place, it was darker than the PB and didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have nuts dotting its smooth surface like so many allergy-inducing polka dots. Chocolate chip, my favorite hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t been unloaded yet. I smiled at the three women who were crowding the stand, impatient for the official start of the market. Oh yes, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not joking– you cannot sell anything until it is exactly 3pm and a bell has been rung. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a fair and thus lovely thing, apparently.<\/p>\n\n

While the three, a duo and a single milled between me and those delectable baked petit morts, I observed the women as they observed the baker. Two were old enough to be my grandmother, and one of them<\/em> had beautiful skin, bright reddish-orange lipstick and very pretty hair. She was so arresting, I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t even look at the other two. I was fascinated, thinking silly AnnaThoughts like \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I wonder what moisturizer she uses\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I bet she wears lots of hats\u00e2\u20ac\u009d. I was so transfixed, I almost missed what was occurring directly in front of us. Almost. Thanks to being perpetually high-strung, even things in my peripheral vision cause me to swivel and investigate, so that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s what commenced my micro-Monk<\/a>-like-adventure: the gesture<\/em> I saw, which I wish I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t, while I was looking elsewhere.I spied, with my round Southie eyes, the baker\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s assistant, dropping one<\/em> and then another<\/em> cookie on the ground<\/em>. He lunged for both, but alas, alack, they were goners. Leaning over, he picked them up with his latex-gloved hands and then walked a few steps back to the van which he had been unloading. After hesitating, he put the two dirty cookies somewhere we couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t see and came back out. I resisted the urge to mutter, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I hope those didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t go right back in the case\u00e2\u20ac\u009d mostly because I was too appalled by what the assistant did next\u00e2\u20ac\u201dhe walked right back to the racks near us and picked up the most beautiful, luscious chocolate chip cookies I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve ever desired. He started arranging them in the last, forlorn, empty basket. I was astounded.<\/p>\n\n

No one else seemed to mind.<\/p>\n\n

Let me see if I underwear this\u00e2\u20ac\u201dthis man, who was wearing gloves, apparently for sanitary reasons, dropped food, picked it up and then, without changing gloves, grabbed several \u00e2\u20ac\u0153fresh\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and so \u00e2\u20ac\u0153clean\u00e2\u20ac\u009d cookies like it was no big thang?<\/p>\n\n

This would be an opportune time to point out that this farmer\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s market occurs on 8th street NW, in Penn Quarter. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s right, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a city street. Just a scant hour before, cars had been rushing over this very spot, dripping oil while perhaps crushing the dead bird I saw a few feet away. This wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t indoors. This. was. a. filthy (albeit pretty<\/a>!) street.<\/p>\n\n

I started to feel a bit anxious. I turned to the woman on my right and asked, sotto voce, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Did he just pick up stuff from the ground and then NOT change his gloves before touching the rest of the cookies?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She looked a bit stunned, then shook it off. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re right. That is exactly what he did.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d And with a grimace, she turned and walked away, towards the mellow mushroom farmer.<\/p>\n\n

The majority of chocolate chips were still safe. I was trying to stay positive\u00e2\u20ac\u201dmaybe he was rushed, absent-minded, unintentionally icky…it would occur to him…now…or…erm…now? How about now? Oh, for the love of sugar, please change your nasty #?@%!%& gloves! He walked away and I thought, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes! See what happens when you hope for the best?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

The duo who remained between me and the stall started speaking.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What did I tell you?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, you were so right, these are gorgeous\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t wait \u00e2\u20ac\u02dctil 3!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not sure what to choose!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What about you, dear?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

That last question was meant for me. Now both were looking my way, expectantly. It was kind of them to include me in their conversation. I love how people in cities just do that, they just insert themselves in to your life and then a few seconds later, float out, so naturally. I also love how contrary to popular belief, New Yorkers are NOT MEAN, nooo, people in DC are way ruder, in my experience. But that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s neither here nor fair.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Well\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I know this might sound obnoxious, but\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know if I can<\/em> buy something after seeing him pick up cookies off the street and then NOT change his gloves.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t even thought of that! My dear, you are very observant.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Are you sure? I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to seem\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6unreasonable?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not at ALL. You raise a very valid concern. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s unsanitary handling of food.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

And with that, they both turned back to the baker.<\/p>\n\n

The cookies were glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. How much butter did those babies get battered with? Oh, why, WHY does this guy have to be so naree*? My cookie-lust got the better of me, empowering me to be bold. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m a consumer! They want me to buy things, so they would want me to be satisfied, right? That’s the whole point of supporting indie everything, you get such kind, personal service, that you feel extra good when you walk out with your purchase. As long as I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m polite, a question is perfectly acceptable. If that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s all it takes to get a glove change\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6and thus a clean cookie\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Excuse me, sir?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He was ready for my question. He had the slightest accent and he looked and sounded a bit like the \u00e2\u20ac\u0153pool boy\u00e2\u20ac\u009d in Legally Blonde. You know, the one who was all\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u009dDon\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you go tapping your last season Prada shoes at me missy\u00e2\u20ac\u009d or similar. No? Didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t watch it? Fine, let\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s move on.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Did two cookies drop on the ground?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes, but I threw them away. There\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s trash in the truck.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He looked at me like, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153come on, you should know better\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6of course I threw them out!<\/em>\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, but\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6pick them up while wearing\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6those gloves?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I gestured towards his hands, each of which were holding 4-5 now-tainted cookies.<\/p>\n\n

The smile immediately disappeared from his face. In fact, he was scowling. The epiphany had smacked him, all oops upside his head, like.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Look, I touch the cookies, not the road!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

I nodded. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Thank you so much.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know how he had magically avoided asphalt and thus preserved the integrity of his food-handling equipment, but I felt that it was appropriate to leave, since a line was forming for all the baked goodness.<\/p>\n\n

Glum, I wandered past organic cheese samples, dried apple rings and a mini-orchid shop, over to the woman who always brings such gorgeous flowers to market. I had a question for her, about a certain\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6green, plant-y thing which I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know the official name for<\/a>. Since they were in the last few bouquets I had been given, everyone expected me to know what they were called. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m asking for it; they are eye-catching. On Fridays, when I take the vase home (they last for over a week!) on the metro and while walking, I constantly hear \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What ARE those?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

I was about to pose my question, since she had finished with an actual customer, when the two cookie ladies \u00e2\u20ac\u0153cut in line\u00e2\u20ac\u009d.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Do you have dahlias?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, one asked.<\/p>\n\n

The other older woman, the one who hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t spoken to me was eyeing me as she slowly, sensuously bit in to a chocolate chip circle of bliss. I know, she wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t doing it just to make me feel bad, but that was obviously the end effect.<\/p>\n\n

This was really starting to bug me. I started wishing I was more “chill” about such things, her cookie looked THAT fantastic. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m famous for washing my hands before I touch food, after I touch my laptop, upon re-entering the house, after I take off my shoes in the hallway\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6any time that they might be dirty. I have no more control over such rituals than I do over my obsession for 120 Minutes-era music. No cookie for me.<\/p>\n\n

Here, have some context, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s free today: I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think this is anything but familial myth-making, but allegedly, my first word was \u00e2\u20ac\u0153chee-dirty!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d. Does that count as a word? Whatevs, I grew up with typical, anal-retentive, paranoid brown parents. Which is not to say that I think Desis are somehow cleaner than everyone else, rather that they are more consumed with the concept than some.<\/p>\n\n

After college, my two prospective Asian roommates (Chinese and half-Japanese, respectively) became probable and not possible roomies when I kicked off my shoes without being told, before touring the white carpeted apartment (what genius installs white rugs in a college apartment complex? Something about the G-line makes people wacky, I tell you.) Apparently, every other interested party had just stumbled on in; half had observed all the shoes by the door and asked about it\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6only to then strut right past, shoes still on.<\/p>\n\n

See? And some of you think we have practically nothing in common with \u00e2\u20ac\u0153real\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Asians. \ud83d\ude09<\/p>\n\n

[Aside: as if that last sentence wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t incendiary enough, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve got more flame bait for ya. I recall a very controversial early-early-morning breakfast, i.e. in the wee hours, after a night of partying, which was heated because the question stupidly being considered by several people in various stages of intoxication was, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Were South Indians cleaner than North Indians?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d. We were all referencing our parents in our arguments for and against, as if we were still infants who hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t realized that we weren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t physically attached to them. Later, a Guju gf confided to me that she felt she had more in common with Southies, and not just because a Tamil family friend had taught her Mother how to make fantastic sambar…\u00e2\u20ac\u009dNo, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the cleanliness thing. I feel like with North Indians, the shoe thing is optional. My house? Not optional. Yours too, right??\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Right. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6aren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you technically North Indian??\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/em>, I asked. She arched her back, squared her shoulders and sniffed at me. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I most certainly am not. I am Gujarati.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d]<\/p>\n\n

Back to the story within a story. So, after hearing about my possible first word(s), you won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be surprised to hear about the time when I was five and my sister, in her stroller, had dropped her bottle on the sidewalk, in San Francisco. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Chee!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d my mother hissed, grabbing it and swinging it above my baby sister\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s dimpled, grasping hands. We were near the park, so it wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t so odd that we almost immediately encountered another stroller. That<\/em> baby\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s pacifier fell out, and bounced on the ground, twice. That<\/em> mother stopped, shrugged, picked it up, wiped it on the back of her pants and popped it right back in her baby\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s waiting mouth. I still remember the disgusted look on my mom\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s face. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why are Americans so dirty?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she muttered in Malayalam.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Aren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t we Americans?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where is your brain and smart mouth when Americans ask you that? You just stare at them, like you are a dumb. Of course we are. But we are clean ones.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

Beyond the fact that \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Americans\u00e2\u20ac\u009d seemed to be code for white people, I was perplexed by this new designation of \u00e2\u20ac\u0153clean\u00e2\u20ac\u009d vs. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153dirty\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Americans.<\/p>\n\n

When I was growing up, there was no five-second rule<\/a>; if it dropped, it got tossed, and yes, a \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Chee! Dirty!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d was usually uttered by someone in the vicinity, to commemorate the fallen.<\/p>\n\n

Twenty-seven years after a scolding on a San Francisco sidewalk, my phone rang, on a street 3,000 miles from fog, hills and proper sourdough bread. I answered. It was my best friend.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You have good timing!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not really. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re just uber-predictable. I knew you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be free for a bit.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hey\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6can I ask you if I overreacted to something?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153hold on\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6let me clear my throat\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve got Dionne Warwick on the brain\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

I told her everything (obviously with less punctuation or consideration for detail) and by the time I got to the part where the assistant had returned from tossing the dirty cookies, only to pick up the innocent choc-<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153GASP! NO!! That is NASTY. And on a freaking city street! Eww, eww, eww, eww, ewww.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6wow. Thanks. I thought that maybe I was the weird one, since the other people weren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t bothered, but you caught it before I could even-\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153NO! Who does that? I mean, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s one thing when you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re in a restaurant, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll grant you that you have no knowledge of what\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s going on in the kitchen, etcetera\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6but to see it first-hand\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have been able to eat it, either. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re not veird.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

I sighed with relief as I contemplated the odd mish-mash of feelings within. There are moments when I just feel<\/em> more desi than I usually do, or when I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m reminded that I was raised differently. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not talking about being othered by others, I mean little eurekas of my own, about something just like this<\/a>. Often, when I question myself about a reaction to something, the answer will float to my surface like one of Razib\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s old comedic comments…<\/p>\n\n

…Brown<\/a>.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Gawd, why do you tell me this stuff? It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s like the time that guy at Au Bon Pain dropped all those bagels on the ground, made eye contact with you and STILL put them out to be sold. I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t eat bagels for like, a year. Who are these narees?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I think they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re a tiny, indie\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6not exactly a storefront-in-dc type of establishment.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Good.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes. Your Marvelous Market addiction can continue, in peace.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t it amazing?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, she asked.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153The ridiculously different standards we have about cleanliness, compared to others.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

Ah, there. I was not alone. Perhaps we never are, despite how we feel.<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Amazing and inconvenient\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, I said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153My attempt at cookie-ing uncovered an…inconvenient truth.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That your parents raised you right?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yeeeeah, let\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s go with that one.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::<\/p>\n\n

Naree\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6is such a brilliant Malayalam word. It encompasses so much in its two potent syllables; it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the epitome of \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Chee! Dirty!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d-osity. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s one of the examples I think of when our seemingly-stodgy-about-certain-things Amitabh rails about the loss of languages and how that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a tragedy. He is right to rail, because it is tragic, because words are magical, potent, precious. There are some things I just can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t say precisely, in English, and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not even THAT fluent in Malayalam; there are words (beyond kundi, silly) which are perfect for what I am thinking, even if they are in the \u00e2\u20ac\u0153wrong\u00e2\u20ac\u009d language, and those are the only words which my mind can or will summon, in that moment.<\/p>\n\n

As for what \u00e2\u20ac\u0153naree\u00e2\u20ac\u009d means\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6well, I was never one of those who liked having a glossary in the back of a mehndi book; I visibly grimace when I see such things, unless it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s ironic, in which case the most annoying song ever gets stuck in my head.<\/p>\n\n

I always thought that if you were a skilled enough writer, a strange word could be understood via context. I am no \u00e2\u20ac\u0153skilled\u00e2\u20ac\u009d anything, but this is one of the guidelines I attempt to consider when I am writing, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153does this sentence and this sentence reveal what \u00e2\u20ac\u02dckundi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 means, to a non-Mal speaker, in this paragraph?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

After finally deciphering and then completing the most challenging assignment I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had yet, I grabbed my badge and headed out. I wanted to take a little walk\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I deserved to\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I was done two hours before I expected to be and I … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1,47,30],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4799"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4799"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4799\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4799"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4799"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sepiamutiny.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4799"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}