The chaos called home.

Hey Guys.

As I take my fledgling steps into the vast blogosphere, there is this battalion of thoughts blitzkrieg-ing through my mind's strife-ravaged battlefield. One of them, however, commands my attention far more distinctly than others, almost enslaving my fingers as they prance around on the QWERTY. Surprising as it may seem, this one isn't remotely wicked. So my evil twin howls as I stab him with a gilded Schiavona and decide to write about a rather cliched and tame topic, the time I popped back to Mama India.


The first thing that flip-kicks me in the face, as I exit the aircraft door after a 4000 mile long voyage, is the stifling humidity. Accompanying that, comes its Bambaiyya pal, the stench. It's like the city slaughtered a couple thousand animals, and left them to rot for a week, JUST for MY arrival!! (YAY!). Oh! and hold on.. that's just the prologue to a series of home-coming gifts that'd make Vlad the Impaler barf all over his Mommy.

After a half-hour-long squabble and bargain with the Rickshaw-waala for the ride home, the next part of the ordeal involves sitting through the rickety ride, akin to a mortally scary level black++ Canoeing challenge.
And just when I'm about to step out of the dude's rickety ride, he goes 'भाईसाहब चालीस रुपिया extra'. At the end of my tether, I finally give in to the shameless demand of his outstretched hand.

I reach home, as my super ecstatic Mom awaits my knock on the door. My twin grumbles to himself as I try to escape Mom's squeals and bear-hugs .. Piping hot, home-cooked, insanely delicious INDIAN food lies begging to be eaten, and I pounce upon it like a freaking man eating Minotaur .. My own bed feels so unbelievably good, I could flip off King Louis the 'n'th , and he'd stare back in jealousy like a schoolboy denied candy. :-)

The next few days, it's time to get back to all I have missed out on in the summer. I greet a horde of friendly faces with the ritualistic howls that our 'forefathers' have yelled out for generations, and a similar volley of abuses is hurled my way. I imagine the Terminator go "I AM BACK" in that holocaust reminiscent voice.

I meet more friends. Old friends, and you don't really get excuses better than that for pulling back on a couple of Jugs of Beer. Life is starting to get awesome.


I am back to the run down hellholes that my university offers as sad excuses for student hostels, back to stinky mice rummaging through my stuff, back to mess food that'd make a Billy Goat cry his holy Bejesus out, back to mosquitoes that mysteriously bite people ONLY on their booties and back to a football field that is so awesome you can play Water-polo in (on?) it.

Its raining outside, as I sit here with a hot cup of tea, listening to a certain Mr. Buckethead wail out insane guitar solos. It feels so good to be back home, my mind does a double back flip off of a 500 foot tall TV tower. Again.