Well, I'm Back.

My little vacation lasted three entire months in city Z, and i still wish I could go back soon. Well, that doesn't exactly count as a vacation, because i was made to join a high-school in said city on the 19th of April, 2010. There are a lot of things i would love to write, but i wouldn't want to bore the few readers i've managed to have. So, I'll get to the gist of things.
For a start, I love my new high-school. But, if one has read my first post, i have mentioned clearly that i do not like change.
Inspite of that, i'm happy in city Z. It's just that the people are friendly, the roads are safe, and the western Expats are, for a change, not complete idiots. And they look funny trying to swim back toward an abra.
Well, for most people my life in city Z will be quite drab, with all the torrid affairs i've been having with people as Winston S. Churchill, Acton Bell(Anne Bronte), William Shakespeare, Anton Chekhov, Paulo Coelho, Sidney Sheldon and the like, them being the crème de la crème of great writers. Though i do not agree with many of W.S. Churchill's thoughts as in "The Great Democracies", but i like the way he's written, nonetheless.
Today, my father and my sisters' in-laws are sitting around, talking about booze and stag parties.
"In Goa, when they come from the bar, they look like the dead!" Jyoti's Mother-in-law means the boys my to-be brother-in-law has befriended.
My dad falls into his pool of reminisce, when the loved to drink -though not too much- and liked to appreciate the "finer things in life". He is broken out of his reverie, by the sudden chatter about "haldi" rasams and "Lehenga-cholis".
As usual, i shake my head and resume my typing- it being my answer to everything.
All of my professors are worth remembering, but my favorite of them all is Shirin Chandy, my english teacher. She trusted me inspite of knowing me the least, and i loved the sophistication with which she conversed with everyone.
I've come back for a month to attend my sisters wedding on the 18th of this month.
And I just LOVE marriages.
I'm just glad she's not joining the Mafia...

Ek "AAM" Ladki ke "AAM" Kisso ki "AAM" Kahaani

"Hockey is India's National Sport.

Cricket is India's religion.

I am an atheist with a strict "no-stick-on-field" policy."

-Anonymous

March is a month that begins with the dreaded board exams, stress, anxiety, electric bills, chewed-up fingernails, "Emotional Atyachaar" mania, and the end of a non-existent winter.

March is a month that ends in relief, payrolls, stressing on marks, farewell parties, convocations, tears, silent promises to stay in touch and, of course, Summer.

Think "Summer".

Think "Yellow". "Think "sunshine".

Think "The Delhi Fashion Week", "Swimsuit season", "New openings at pretti slim", "Price hikes on Sunscreen", "Fat women top-naked on public beaches", "Fat women in tight see-though white kurtis", and "Mindless Ogling".

Think "Dollops of sunscreen", "Summer clearance sales", "Cute guys top-naked on public beaches", "Sweating on the wrong places", "Long drives", "Avoiding public transport", "Avoiding your neighbor", "Avoiding the sun", "Avoiding men who smell like dead rats or kitty-litters", "Excessive deo", "Long working hours", "Sweat-soaked clothes". Think "another excuse to shorten the length of that dress"

Think "Mating season", "holiday migrations", "another dollop of sunscreen", "minimal make-up","sunburns", "aloevera".

And, then think the BAAP of a fruits---

THINK MANGOES!

A summer delight in India during the scorching summer months, they are the only reason people in India still believe that God exists. The coming in of Summer brings with it new items to menus of large urban indian food outlets. "Mango-chaas", "Mango icecream" "Aam ras" "mango milkshakes, mangoes, mangoes, and plenty more mangoes that are sold in every alley, every shop, every busy street of the City that never sleeps. Why, summer is the only season of the year when Mumbaikars look at a glass of "Maazaa" and say, "Know what? I think I'll pass..."

Here I sit, my precious, ripe, juicy, yellow mango in the very palm of my hands. My first bite, first lick, first slurp, and every other first that i left out is finally happening today. Gluttony takes over and I begin to devour my prized mango with animalistic vigor. Call me what you like, but I'm a sucker for mangoes.

I remember the tree outside my aunts appartment which always had ripe alphonsos five days after the Ides of March. Nice, ripe, juicy yellow mangoes always hung on the dainty branches elusively. My brother used to go up the tree and pluck them, and I used to hold the ladder up. He fell on me one day. We never plucked mangoes together after that.
I always hated that bastard...
Oh, well.

This month, I've decided to go to city Z in the Middle East from here for a holiday with my mum and sister. After a lot of negotiation, mum has agreed to travel to Z, which is two hours and 2,560km (approx.) away from Mumbai.
My birth city is the most beautiful, clean, lush, peaceful and excruciatingly BORING city in the entire world.

Yes, no cursing on the highway, no public tantrums, no mooning, no picketing, no harrassment, no NOTHING.

My only sources of enterntainment are 1) the frequent number of accidents on the streets right next to the 2)cemetry just a few yards outside of my house.
Well, shit.
But fretting I shalln't do, for throwing expats off an abra is what i shall do if the city gets too boring.
As someone had said, "When the going gets tough, the tough haul people into the sea for the heck of it".

Mangoes, anyone?