So it’s my birthday. Awesome. I’m halfway to being half a CENTURY old. Not too bad. I guess when you get older you’re supposed to become depressed or something, but I think there’s something wrong- I’m pretty cool with it. Hmm…
I know what you’re thinking– big birthday bash, people left and right getting trashed, and a whole lot of presents and cards.
Wrong. Three cards, no party, one gift, and no alcohol.
And you know what? I’m completely happy. (Although I wouldn’t really be in the mood to have people trashed at my birthday party anyway.) I had a good day at work, I’m back in one piece after hours teaching class, and I had a nice chaat at a local restaurant. A bhel puri– puffed rice tossed in a sweet and spicy sauce with onions, coriander, and topped off with some crunchy stuff and more cilantro. Delish, I think. There are a bunch of other chaat types, but this one’s my favorite. Apparently people go crazy for it, but I don’t know what the big allure is. A chaat by the way is basically a dish that you get as a snack. After lunch, before dinner. Relatively light depending on what you get with it. You couldn’t go to a restaurant and say, ‘I want chaat’. They’d ask, ‘What kind’.
But that’s neither here nor there. All I know is that I’m very peaceful and happy with tonight. It’s been raining non-stop for the past couple of days and there’s flooding around Bangalore. Over here as far as I’m concerned it’s nice and cool, I have a blanket, and so far the internet connection isn’t down. Vinoj is set.
That’s it for now, and I’m pretty content. Talk lates..
When Shibu was still alive, he and I talked about women. Or perhaps more specifically, relationships and all its trappings. He was married at the time, and he said that when you’re married you stop looking at other women. They are appreciated as God’s beauty, but that’s it.
Rrrrright, I thought. I mean this guy WAS an evangelical Christian (that’s not a radical Christian btw) so of course he’d have something about sanctity of marriage and what-not. I mean c’mon, just bc you’re married you stop looking at the fiiiiine honeys out there? Bullshit.
Dammit. It pisses me off to say-Shibu was right. I can’t think of anyone but the woman I’m with. Of COURSE there are women out there who are hot and yeah c’mon, I’d like to do them. But I realized something. What next? What, you sleep with them and the next day you feel empty and shallow? Sure guys may wanna talk to other guys going, “Dude! I boned Angelina Jolie!” (Okay THAT is an exception… and ma GURRRRL has agreed that Angelina’s on my list of people I can be with.) But there’s no one who can be as caring, touching, understanding, and whose voice and smile can brighten up my day as ******.
Yeah this sounds horribly cheesy and cliche. It’s the kind of stuff that I used to hear from people who were in love and think, “Shut the hell up I don’t wanna hear this. Ass.” And so I’ll end with the superlatives on her. Yes her name’s a secret for now, and we’ll keep it that way for a bit.
Maybe others can find some sort of meaning in this. Maybe not. Out.
This is preposterous. Having a website that I’m actually paying for, and not updating since freakin’ September 12th. I have a defense though: internet connections in India suck b@ll$. One second it’s working fine, then the electricity goes out and the connnection goes out. Then, when the power comes back, the internet server may be down. And this is all with ONE rainfall. Plus considering that the speed over here is ridiculously slow, it makes it more of a pain. I’ll see how long I can keep updating this time.
Anyway, it’s all good in the hood- I’m teaching some classes on American culture, which is pretty sweet. It’s great interacting with a bunch of students,and to teach them about what most people I know consider routine: According to a number of my students, everyone gets a divorce and has too many relationships to count. An actual number stated in my class- 221 relationships per year. Wow. I don’t think even Hugh Hefner can get that high even WITH Viagra.
Out for now- will keep ya posted.
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