What we have here... is a failure to communicate.

Ok really. It's not that bad. "Such angst". Haha. It's cool. It's all cool.

I-day

I-day asche. Ki kori? Bangla-te likhi?
At the convocation thing for the batch of 2007, we had this guy who came up on stage and told us how we were completely disconnected from our roots, our language, our culture and yadayada. You know how it is. We're also told everyday, how hard our parents have worked to send us to this fan-fucking-tastic place and and how many sacrifices they’ve had to make to ensure that we get quality education. We're also told constantly how unworthy we are of this place, of all this sacrifice and hard work, because all we do is eat, drink and make merry and blow money like fucking tissue paper.

Right. I understand, how we're easy targets. Yes, we are a priviledged lot. 90% of our tuition fees are indeed funded by our parents. 80% of us have never worked before. We've had things easy. We've never had to struggle. We're complacent and smug. We have that dreaded "attitude" thing. We talk in English most of the time and we like wearing strange clothes. So yes. Please feel free to direct all your old-age and mid-life crisis angst at us - the soft, happy-go-lucky pampered princes and princesses of Generation X and Y.

Man. I've never come across a bigger bunch of upstarts in my entire life. You have "vision" the size of a fucking peephole. Yes, we need to know our language. We need to love our culture - not just know it with a gun against our heads. We need to travel across the country. We need to fix the problems that plague our country. We agree. And we will. But we will also talk in English. We will also wear strange clothes. We will also eat, drink and make merry. And that attitude will always remain like a fucking cream pie thrown at your face. We will take care of our families, our friends and our environment. And we will do it, not 'cause we have to, but because we love to. Stop making our responsibilities sound like some kind of Cysiphus' stone. And stop making poster children out of those who've had it rough. We all have our own problems. And we all have to learn how to deal with it.

So yes. We know very little about the Nation's struggle for independence. The generation that comes after will know even lesser. But we'll try not to hold it against them. They will, like we do, have to fight their own battles for freedom. The country had been freed 60 years ago. It's about time you freed your mind. Please, let us grow.

I'm home for a bit. Like home-home (the real deal). It's nice. It's like I never left. It's afternoon. It's my room. And it's beautiful outside. I didn't realise what a cool home I have up until now. I've always been a little hostile towards this place - but it's a part of me now. I like it when it's bumming around in its shorts like me - and not all dressed up for the people. The bulletin board in front of me has The Telegraph cut outs of Bertie in his beret and the Herbie Hancock-Wayne Shorter jazz pass. It's a little bare - but still - it's mine. I know tomorrow, when I leave - and settle in once more into the Pune room, it'll also be home. But for now, this is it.

The room, fortunately, looks lived in. The parents are looking happy. Dada's looking nice (for once, he's been waiting for me to come home!). Oh and shit, the food's good. I missed the food. I missed the peace.

I can't hear myself think in Pune. Which would explain the infrequent blogging. But as soon as I stepped out from that world, there was a definite "ting" at the back of my head. Right now, I can't write funny, but I can think funny. I can people watch without being vitriolic or harsh. And that's a start.

Shit, maybe it was just Fear and Loathing, but I was going mad at the airport. Every person or thing that caught my eye, turned ridiculous - like when you're stoned out of your skull and the walls walk and shit like that. There was the American with the onion rings and snake neck, the Gujju uncle with the triple chin and cool phone, the over-priced chicken cutlet in front of me (which wasn't the kind of chicken that required a fork and a knife), the thin planes that looked like condoms taking off- shit - I was cracking up inside. I promised myself, next time I get on a plane - I will load up, true and proper, so that the entire experience of waiting and waiting and waiting some more, gets a little funner. So far, the self-induced mind numbing process has been highly successful - and the induction (?) always takes place with coming back to life blasting through my laptop speakers. Such is life.

Anyway, guess what? Nofunjokes is blocked on the college network, because it apparently has pornographic content. Hmm...Imagine that flashing onto a fucking 21 inch screen as the professor walks by.
Anyway - some killers from U and I forget who -

"Why did the Tamilian not have more than 239 peas?
Because after that it would just become two-farty."

"What would you a name a famous piece of fart?
After the Last Supper"

"Why was the egg really sad?
You would be too if you got laid only once" (I lurve this one :D )

And so it goes. Oh, I went to Lonavala last Thursday. We didn't do much, other than get wet and eat - but it was nice anyway. Met a fun couple who sold expensive food and a concept called a little art cafe in the middle of nowhere. It was nice in an elitist, pretentious kind of way.

Dang. I'm just writing too much now. Anyway, just so that you know - Happiness is a warm Wada Pao. It should probably be "Vada" - but dublew looks nicer.