Hakuna Matata

Thailand was like a mini-Saarang. Fun, tiring and totally worth it. Like a good job. No pun intended. I wish. But seriously, late nights, early mornings, hanging out with the people you like, beautiful beaches and of course, shiny Tesco balls. What else would one need. Want.

As much as Patong beach and the Bengali road and the pool basketball and the motorboat drive were amazing, (for the former two, T has brilliant stories I hear...pray share a few, brother - notice the colour of his face as V would say) I think the following week which I took off in Chennai was proverbial ignorance. (I have to make myself sound crass and contrived now and then - its a disease, genetic actually). Sorry, make that is(be) which was in past tense as was to is(be) in present as is. Rainy romantic raunchy risque. :)

So I met a prof, the hostel cat, the neighbour's daughter, some friends and some friend's friend. Day before I also got to enjoy another hostel night but I suddenly got vaccuumed in the gut. (now that's a cliche that's never going to stick)... I realized that I could not do this next year. Never again. I was now a dinosaur in the hostel which brought me up from a hapless fledgling to a not-as-hapless fledgling. And there was no turning back. Lame. Obvious and lame. But difficult to digest. Friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on to. Keep telling yourself that my children and if you're lucky like me, you'll find them early on in life. And for T, here goes, C'est la vie.

I've decided to be funny for the rest of this post and write about something funny. Like telephones. Ummm, no, like cats. Or cats with telephones. Or cats with telephones making prank calls to other cats with telephones. Something like:
Cat#1: Hello
Cat#2: Meow
Cat#1: Is your fridge running?
Cat#2: No
Cat#1: Oh, what about your fan?
Cat#2: No, I don't have a fan
Cat#1: Then what is running in your house?
Cat#2: A mouse
Cat#1: Why don't you go and catch it then?
Cat#2: Because I am full.
...
Something like that. Intended to be funny and after all, it's the thought that counts.

Digression is the better part of a blogger. That said, I urge all of you to take swimming lessons from a trained professional who will give you interesting pieces of information like "the rate at which you stroke your hands must be 1/8th as fast as the rate at which you beat your feet". And you can contact me for an exceptional swimmer who will be available during the month of July.

I think I've done my part in destroying the credibility of this blog. I was the last standing bastion of hope, the lone ranger in the corrupt Wild Wild West, the solitary ray of enlightenment meandering its way through the dilapidated streets of reason. Into that heaven my father led my country to sleep.

Amen,
H